


POCKSON

by Madame_Xela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Anderson is a creep, Character Bashing, John is a muggleborn, John is in denial about his sexuality, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Past Abuse, Pregnancy, Sherlock is a pureblood, Slash, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage Sex, mentions of abortion (unknown/forced), ooc, past drug abuse, slightly dysfunctional relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Xela/pseuds/Madame_Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry needed help the most, Sherlock was there to offer him a safe(ish) home and so much more. Things get very stressful between the men as baby Teddy is placed in their care. Perhaps John can be the peacekeeper between them…crappy summary is crap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Study in pink part I

To say that John Watson was surprised when he first entered 221B Baker Street for the first time would be an understatement. There were papers, baby necessities (i.e. nappies, bottles, clothes), and…were those human body parts?!

Yes, John Watson’s first impression of 221B was that a family of clinically insane people lived there.

However, all of that changed when Mrs. Hudson walked into the room. The kind woman gave him a smile, instantly calming him.

“Oh Sherlock, the mess you’ve made!” She said while walking into the kitchen.

Sherlock made some sort of reply, not that John had heard him. He was busy staring at the young man who was standing in the doorway. He was short (maybe about an inch or two shorter than John), with shoulder length black hair pulled back by a green ribbon, pale skin, thin frame, and wide, green eyes. His pink lips stretched into a lovely smile (which certainly did _not_ make John’s breath catch. He was straight thank you very much!) when their eyes connected. He walked up to John and extended his hand, careful not to drop the spit-up stained cloth that was draped over his shoulder.

John clasped his hand and introduced himself. “Ah, hello. John Watson.”

The man smiled a bit brighter. “Oh yes, Doctor Watson. Sherlock did say that you would be coming by today. I’m Harry Potter. Sorry I didn’t meet you at the door but my son Teddy needed to be put down for a rest. And…oh…” The man-Harry Potter!-trailed off and started to look uncomfortable. It may have been because John’s eyes had nearly bugged out of his head, in fact, John thought that it probably was the reason.

Harry Potter, the savior of the Wizarding world, was living in 221B with Sherlock Holmes! John had heard all about Harry Potter, being a muggleborn wizard. He had pitied the poor boy from the start. Nothing had gone right for him. He hadn’t believed a word that that crap newspaper _The Daily Prophet_. John had been more than willing to fight in the Wizarding War, but Afghanistan needed him more. All of those poor muggles who were dying because they weren’t given the best care that they could get. Not that John was being conceited or anything but his level of expertise was a lot higher than most. He didn’t use spells, just small doses of potions that worked wonders. There were more than enough qualified Med-Wizards running about Britain for the war.

Because of his drifting thoughts, he almost missed the scowl that showed up on Harry’s face. “Sherlock Holmes, what the hell have I told you about keeping the house clean when expecting guests?” Harry hissed.

Sherlock shrugged. “You tell me lots of things, but have I ever been known to listen?” It was more of a statement really, since Sherlock was busy wandering the flat, looking at all of his belongings.

Harry rolled his eyes and with a flick of his wrist, the garbage and the papers and Teddy’s things were flying about, getting into their rightful places.

“Don’t mess up my experiments Harry.”

“Had you put them somewhere safer earlier this wouldn’t be happening. I told you yesterday to clean up.”

“And I did. I also told you that these were important experiments.”

The argument dropped. John was amazed at how they acted towards each other. Sherlock gave off the impression that he was a hard man to get along with. Surprise right? What with all of the crazy shit everywhere that just screamed ‘mad scientist’. One look at Harry Potter and John’s mind listed several medical problems with him. PTSD, Malnutrition, possible (more than likely, given the few scars that he could see peeking out from under his shirt) abuse, slight trust issues (if John’s reaction to his name was anything to go by), and overall exhaustion. There couldn’t be a stranger mix anywhere.

John sat himself down on one of the chairs and watched as the room cleaned itself. “So, I looked you up last night. The –ah- Science of Deduction was it?” Harry and Sherlock stopped what they were doing and stared at him. Harry, he noted, looked mildly amused while Sherlock looked curious.

“And what did you think?” Sherlock asked. John gave a disbelieving look.

“You said you can tell a software designer by his tie.”

“Yes. It’s simple really. I could read you military career in your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits from your mobile phone. ”

“How?”

Sherlock stared at the doctor with a slight smirk on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted.

“Sherlock, don’t overload the man.” Harry chuckled. It was normal for people to doubt Sherlock’s abilities when it came to deduction, then Sherlock would prove to them that he was in fact accurate and then he would be yelled at and things turned for the worst. Harry didn’t want there to any bad blood between Sherlock and their new flatmate. “Trust me, Dr. Watson –”

“Call me John, please.”

“Trust me John when I tell you that everything this man says is true. If it wasn’t for him, well, the war wouldn’t be over.” John’s eyes widen marginally at that. He hadn’t known that Sherlock Holmes had a part to play in the ending of the war. It wasn’t in any books, or papers; in fact the only thing that was known about the end of the war was that Voldemort was destroyed by Harry. “He can give you a demonstration later, but right now is not the time.”

The three were silent until Mrs. Hudson came in, newspaper in hand. “What do you think of these suicides Sherlock? Thought it’d be right up your alley. Three exactly the same-” Sherlock looked at something down on the street from the window.

“-Four.”

“What?”

“There’s been a fourth.”

They didn’t wait for him to elaborate because they heard hurried footsteps coming up the stairs. Greg Lestrade looked out of breath and anxious as he walked through the doorway.

“Where?” Sherlock asked.

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.”

“What’s different about this one?”

“This one left a note.” Sherlock looked unimpressed while the D.I. was there. Harry and Mrs. Hudson exchanged nervous glances. “Will you come?”

Sherlock thought it over. “Who’s on forensics?”

“It’s Anderson.” John was very curious at the two groans the names received.

“He doesn’t work well with me.” Sherlock pointed out, looking a bit more than aggravated.

It was decided, though, that Sherlock would go to the crime scene. Lestrade bid the other three goodbye before he ran back downstairs. Sherlock stood still, watching the man leave. He made no movements until the door clicked shut. John wasn’t sure what scared him more: the abrupt attitude change or the fact that the man was so excited over a serial suicide.

“Brilliant!” Sherlock yelled as he jumped in the air. He danced around the room, taking Harry with him and spinning him in circles, as he chatted away. “Four suicides and now a note! Ah! It’s Christmas!” They stopped dancing, much to the amusement of the smaller man, and Sherlock pressed a chaste kiss to Harry’s lips. He grabbed his coat and made his way to the door. “Mrs. Hudson, I’ll be late. I might need some food.”

“I’m your Landlady dear, not your housekeeper.” Harry assured her with a smile that he would take care of it if Sherlock needed food. Sherlock ignored them and continued talking.

“Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don’t wait up!” With that, the consulting detective was gone.

John was confused. What just happened?

“Look at him,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Dashing about. My husband was just the same. But, you’re more the sitting down type, I can tell.” Harry chuckled at the comment. John shifted awkwardly. “I’ll make you that cuppa, you just rest your leg.”

“Damn my leg!” The outburst caused Mrs. Hudson to jump and Harry to flinch. Regret flashed through John and he apologized.

“Don’t worry about.” Harry told him with a smile. Mrs. Hudson went back to getting the tea. Harry sat in the seat across from John, quietly observing him. John fidgeted and grabbed the newspaper to distract himself from those green eyes.

“So, um, how do you know Sherlock?” He asked without looking up. The front page of the paper was rather interesting, it described the suicides that had been going on, but what had John’s attention the most was the picture of the man. It was Detective Inspector Lestrade, the same man that had just left moments ago. What did the DI need Sherlock Holmes for?

“We’re engaged, unofficially.” John’s head snapped up. Engaged?

“Oh, seriously?”

Harry laughed. “Why does everybody ask me that? Yes I’m serious. Sherlock and I have a special relationship, most people wouldn’t understand…” He trailed off. The fondness of his tone made John stop and think. Sherlock Holmes must not be as crazy as he originally thought.

“When did you meet.”

There was a smile on the young man’s face, but he shook his head. “I’m afraid, John that that is a story for another time. For now, I think Sherlock would like to ask you something.” Harry pointed to the doorway where Sherlock was watching the two with a calculating look.

“You’re a doctor.” He said to John. “Yes, you’re an army doctor.”

John used his cane to push himself up. “Yes.”

“Any good.” John could swear that he heard Harry mumble something around the lines of ‘like you don’t already have an answer to that’.

“Very good.” The words were stressed, showing that John was well aware of his medical skills.

Looking off into the distance, Sherlock slowly walked into the room and continued talking. “Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths.” Sherlock was right in front of the doctor, staring at him in a way that made John slightly nervous.

“Um, yes. I’ve seen enough to last me a life time.”

“Want to see some more?”

John didn’t even hesitate. “Oh god yes.” Both Harry and Sherlock chuckled at John’s eagerness.

Sherlock glanced in Harry’s direction and sent him a small wave. “Sorry Harry, I’d ask you to come but I know that you’re _terribly_ busy taking care of Theodore.” The man said in a mock-upset tone. For a moment John was worried that he had accidentally caused a fight between the two.

“Stop it Sherlock. You’re acting like a baby. Teddy’s… _sick_. You know that I would be out there in a heartbeat if I could. Teddy will be fine tomorrow so the next time you want me to I can go running off with you to find a murderer. Take John and please try not to hex Anderson.” Harry growled. Without so much as a ‘see you later’ he got up and walked out of the room.

Oh…perhaps there was a bit of tension between the two men. 


	2. A Study in Pink Part II

When John and Sherlock left the flat, Harry rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.  He let out a frustrated sigh.  Why was Sherlock being so difficult with the Teddy situation? It wasn’t like the man was unfamiliar with taking in strays…so what made Teddy different? Was it because he’s a baby or…

A piercing wail disrupted Harry from his thoughts. With a promise to have a _very_ long conversation with Sherlock later, Harry left to go soothe his godson.

*

John sat next to Sherlock in the back of the cab. Sherlock spent most of the time on his phone, every once in a while John noticed that he sent a text or received one from Harry. The rest of the time John had absolutely no idea what the man was doing.

John was confused. There was no other way to put it. All he had planned to do today was to go look at the flat. How the hell did that turn into going to a suicide crime scene with a man that he had only known for a day?

Seeing the look on the doctor’s face, Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Alright, you’ve got questions.”

“Yeah.” John said. “Where are we going?”

“Crime scene. Next?” The response was short and to the point making John fight back the urge to roll his eyes.  

“Who are you, what do you do?” He was curious. This man was unlike anyone that John had ever met before. He was…unnerving to say the least.

“What do you think?”

“I’d say private detective…”

 “But?”

“But the police don’t go to private detectives.” Sherlock smirked.

“I’m a Consulting Detective…The only one in the world. I invented the job.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means that when the police are out of their depth-which is always-they consult me.” The tall man explained.

John had to stop himself from laughing. “The police don’t consult amateurs.” This was ridiculous, the man was insane. Yes, he was insane, and John was in the back of a cab with him. Great.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment. The smile on John’s face disappeared. “When I met you for the first time yesterday I said Afghanistan or Iraq. You looked surprised.” Sherlock wasn’t looking at John anymore, but rather out the window.

“Yes, how _did_ you know?”

“I didn’t know, I noticed. Your hair cut, the way you hold yourself says military. The connotation you used when you entered the room says you trained at Bart’s, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrist, you’ve been abroad but not sunbathing. Your limp’s really bad when you walk but you don’t ask for a chair and you stand like you’ve forgotten about it. So it’s at least partly psychosomatic that says that the original circumstances would traumatic, wounded in action. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq.” Sherlock finished his little monologue by putting emphasis on the ‘q’ in Iraq.

To say that John was amazed would be an understatement. He was baffled and surprised and his head was reeling at the information that had just been thrown at him. How on earth could one person think like this? He had never met anyone this…observant. It was definitely different.

Pretending like he was not in awe of the man he continued in a composed voice. “You said I had a therapist.” He pointed out.

“With a psychosomatic limp, of course you have a therapist.” Sherlock paused. “Then there’s your brother. Your phone. It’s expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. If you’re looking for a flat-share you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift then. Scratches, not one, but many other times it’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins, but you wouldn’t treat a luxury item like this so it’s had a previous owner. Next bit’s easy, you know it already.”

“The engraving.”

“Harry Watson. Clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man’s gadget. _Could_ be a cousin, but you’re a war hero who can’t find a place to live. Unlikely you would turn to extended family, certainly not one you’re not close to. Now Clara, who is Clara? Three guesses say a romantic attachment. The expensive phone says ‘wife’ not ‘girlfriend’. Looks like it’s been bought recently, this model is only six months old, marriage in trouble then. Six months old and he’s just giving it away? If she left him, he would have kept it-people do, sentiment-no, he wanted to get rid of it. He left _her_. He gave the phone to you, that says that he wants you to stay in touch. You’re looking for cheap accommodation, but you’re not going to your brother for help. That says you’ve got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don’t like his drinking.”

“How could you possibly know about the drinking?” John asked skeptically, making Sherlock smirk.

“Shot in the dark-good one though. Power connection I tell you, the scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge, but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man’s phone, never see a drunk’s without them. There you go, see you were right.”

“I was right?” John asked incredulously. “Right about what?”

“The police don’t consult amateurs.”

Sherlock paused and looked down at his phone. He had just received another text.

**From: Harry**

**Message: No Sherlock. Stop acting like a child. I will not leave Mrs. Hudson with Teddy tonight. He’s too young to take Wolfsbane and Draco says that it wouldn’t do any good for him anyways. Maybe if you actually decided to do something nice and help Draco look into it you two could create a potion for him.**

“That…was amazing.” Sherlock blinked and looked over at John.

“You think so?”

“Of course it was. Extraordinary, it was quite extraordinary.”

“That’s not what most people normally say.”

“And what do people normally say?”

“Piss off.” The two laughed. When their laughter died down, John bit his lip. He wanted to ask one more question. But he wasn’t sure if it was too obtrusive or not. “Go ahead and ask it.” Sherlock said. Though how the paler man knew that John had another question…well John felt that he shouldn’t have been so surprised.

“What…what did Harry say when you first met him?” The question was quiet, like John was nervous about stepping over the line-which he was, nervous I mean.

A fond smile, soft and barely there, crept onto Sherlock’s face. “He said ‘thank you’.”

*

_A small child who looked about eleven years old-but in reality was thirteen- curled into himself as he hid-well, tried to anyways, but Sherlock could still see him- behind a dumpster. He had his school trunk-Hogwarts-and a large cage that contained a very beautiful snowy white owl surrounding him in a way that created a crude barrier from the few people that were walking on the sidewalk._

_From the trunk and the owl alone Sherlock deduced that the boy was a student. Probably not a wealthy one if the ratty, ten times too large and disgustingly filthy clothing that he was wearing was anything to go by. Another thing that Sherlock noticed about the boy was that he was a runaway, not that it was hard to notice. There were bruises and scars on the boy’s arms, face and…well anywhere that Sherlock could see really. So the abuse had been going on for a long period of time._

_So the child was a runaway and a wizard. The fact that he had a trunk suggested that he had been to Diagon Alley, so he had to know about the Leaky Cauldron. Tom was notorious for taking in runaways, allowing them room and board in return for doing a few chores here and there. So the boy was a runaway, but he was staying away from the magical community…use of under-aged magic and afraid of getting caught. But the ministry would have found him already, so the boy had no idea that he wasn’t in trouble. Muggleborn? Perhaps muggle-raised…_

_Thunder rumbled in the distance. Sighing, Sherlock grabbed his coat and his old Slytherin house scarf and headed across the street. Absently, he cursed his soft, Gryffindor like heart._

_As he approached the boy, Sherlock noticed a few more things. Long, matted black hair, dirt caked on his skin, calluses on his hands, bags under his eyes (which, Sherlock noted, were a very uncommon and vivid shade of green), filthy glasses, extremely thin limbs…malnourishment, the boy hadn’t bathed, eaten or slept properly in days._

_Sherlock stopped in front of the boy and waited for him to look up._

_The boy didn’t. But he flinched and curled into himself further. “I-Is there something that I can help you with, sir?” his voice was soft and hoarse; he hadn’t had enough water to drink then._

_“Up. I’m taking you to my flat.” Sherlock commanded. Honestly, it was a perfectly innocent request, well to Sherlock at least._

_Apparently, the boy didn’t think so, for looked up in alarm. His green eyes were wide with fear and his mouth fell open in an ‘O’ shape. “W-What?!” A lightning bolt scar peaked out from under the boy’s dark hair. Harry Potter? Sherlock could easily say that he had not seen this one coming. This was one of the few times in his life (he could count every time on one hand) where the genius could (but wouldn’t) say that he was surprised._

_Sherlock rolled his eyes, not outwardly showing the surprise that he felt on the inside. “Oh please, I’m not going to force myself on you. I’m not that cruel.”_

_“Then why-?”_

_“-There’s a rather large storm coming this way. Clearly you have not been keeping up with the news while you’ve been on the run.” Sherlock ignored the boy’s astonished look.  “You haven’t had a bath, a decent meal and a full night’s rest in what seems to be days…possibly a week, so it would be beneficial for you to come with me if only for your health. And furthermore, there is a ‘dangerous’ criminal on the loose, possibly out to get you though most likely not for the reasons you might think Mr. Potter. Now I repeat myself, get up so we can go to my flat before it starts raining.”_

_The boy-Harry-looked at Sherlock suspiciously. “Oh really…and how do I know that you aren’t doing this just because I’m Harry Potter?” Ah self conscious about his fame. Interesting. He has the glory, but does not want it. He probably only found out about it recently-if he was muggle raised, which was becoming more glaringly obvious as time went by._

_“I did not know that it was you, Mr. Potter, until you looked up at me and I saw the scar on your forehead.” Sherlock replied honestly._

_But Harry was still not convinced. “How do I know that you are not a bad guy?”_

_“Oh please, would a bad guy invite you into his home and offer to feed you?” Inwardly, the older wizard was a tad proud that the boy had a decently strong sense of self preservation. Too bad it was masked by his Gryffindor stubbornness._

_“Yes.” Sherlock growled at said stubbornness. He was three and a half seconds away from just stunning the boy and carrying him into his flat when more thunder rumbled, this time louder and much closer. Harry stiffened and looked up at Sherlock (the man absently noting Harry’s apprehension towards the thunder). “Fine…I’ll go with you…if only to stay out of the storm.” Had the boy not heard Sherlock say that there was a dangerous criminal out to get him? Forget what Sherlock said about the self preservation. Clearly the boy was just foolish._

_Sherlock grinned, please that he could finally go inside-it was getting too windy and Sherlock felt drops of rain beginning to fall._

_They made it into the flat-it was nothing special…it was tiny and messy and the neighbors could be heard capitulating through the walls-mere moments before the rain started coming down harder. For a brief moment, Sherlock questioned his decision to bring the boy into his flat. There was barely enough room for Sherlock and his experiments, adding another person…well Sherlock shook that thought out of his head. He wasn’t even sure if the kid would stay for more than a day._

_“There is a bathroom next to the kitchen. Go take a shower. I will get you some clothes and I’ll make you soup.” Harry nodded and scurried off._

_The first thing that Sherlock did was let the bird out of its cage, spelled it clean, and filled its bowls with fresh water and food. He moved the cage next to his own owl’s-Johann-empty one near the window. Then Sherlock went into his room and pulled out a dark, long sleeved shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, shrunk them, and sent them into the bathroom with a flick of his wand (the resounding shout that was heard made Sherlock chuckle). Finally the man grabbed his mobile phone and went into the kitchen._

**_To: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: I need your help. –SH_ **

_He dug through all of his cabinets, searching for a can of chicken and rice soup-he knew that it was in there, Mycroft sent over a dozen cans earlier in the week-and a pot to cook it in. He found his stash of soup, the cans were hiding in the back, as far away from Sherlock as possible (the man remembered that he had purposely placed them there so that way he wouldn’t have to look at them, Mycroft_ was _the one to send the soup over after all). The pot…well there was some rather questionable substances stuck to the bottom of it and Sherlock spent a good five or so minutes cleaning it before he started cooking._

_And, let it be known that Sherlock Holmes should_ **never** _be allowed to cook. The man was many things, he was great with potions and chemicals, he had an astounding intellect, he was fantastic with his spell work, and he was a beautiful violinist, but a chef-not even a good one-he was not._

_So, it should come to no surprise that when Mycroft replied, Sherlock was far more interested in that than the food (which in itself is saying something since Sherlock would rather walk into a herd of angry Hippogriffs than speak to his brother)._

**_From: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: With what? You didn’t get yourself into any trouble did you? –MH_ **

**_To: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: No, but I picked up a stray and I thought that you would like to know. Does the name Harry Potter ring any bells brother dearest? –SH_ **

**_From: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: Dear Merlin, you didn’t kidnap the boy did you? Sherlock I think we need to talk about what you consider an extracurricular activity. –MH_ **

**_To: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: Relax, I didn’t kidnap the precious ‘Savior’. –SH_ **

**_From: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: Then how on earth did he get into your flat? –MH_ **

**_To: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: I found him in the alley across the street. He ran away from his home about a week ago. I suspect that he was abused. –SH_ **

**_From: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: And he just told you this?-MH_ **

**_To: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: No, the bruises and the scars did. –SH_ **

**_From: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: This is not the time for sarcasm brother dear. –MH_ **

**_To: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: Ah, but the thing is, I wasn’t being sarcastic. The boy is littered in scars and bruises. This has probably been going on for years. Who has he been placed with? –SH_ **

**_From: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: Dear Merlin…No one knows whose custody he was placed in. But I can tell you who is behind it. –MH_ **

**_To: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: Let me guess…Dumbledore. –SH_ **

**_From: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: Spot on as always. What can I do? I have no idea where the boy has been so I can’t send the Aurors after them, and even if I did, it would alert Dumbledore and you know that he would get involved. –MH_ **

**_To: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: I think that he was staying with Muggles. And if that’s the case, just send your little plaything after them. –SH_ **

**_From: Mycroft_ **

**_Message: Well, that would make things easier…I will talk to Lestrade about it… -MH_ **

_Sherlock was about to reply, but the scent of smoke prevented him from doing so. He placed the phone down and pulled the pot off of the stove. Apparently, he had put the temperature too high and so the soup bubbled over. There was barely anything left in the pot and what was left was stuck to both the inside and the outside._

_He had to clean it all over again. Tedious._

_Harry came out of the bathroom, Sherlock was frustrated to find that he was wrong in his estimates of the boy’s size as the clothes were still slightly big (there was always something that he overlooked!), and inhaled deeply. “Thank you…for the clothes and the shower and I hope that you don’t take this the wrong way, but what’s burning?” Harry asked softly._

_“Nothing at the moment,” Sherlock said grumpily. “But there was a pot of soup a few moments ago that was attempting to make my stove catch on fire.” He glared at the boy when he let out a laugh._

_“Ah, s-sorry. Would you like me too cook?”_

_Sighing, Sherlock placed the pot back on the stove and wandered into the living room (which was really a part of the kitchen) to reply to Mycroft’s text. “If you must.”_

_In less than ten minutes, Harry had two steaming bowls of soup in his hands. He placed on the small table in front of Sherlock and sat down on the other side of the couch to eat his own-Sherlock noted that his own portion was far larger than Harry’s._

_“Oh, you cleaned Hedwig’s cage…thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” Harry explained, there was a flush to his cheeks and Sherlock wasn’t quite sure if he was embarrassed or grateful._

_Another rumble of thunder was heard; Sherlock filed Harry’s flinch away in his mind palace as another piece of the puzzle that was Harry Potter. “It was no trouble. I have an owl myself-he’s out right now-and he absolutely detests it when his cage gets too dirty.”_

_“So you’re a w…”_

_“A wizard? Yes I am. Sherlock Holmes, of the Great and Noble house of Holmes.” He and Harry smiled at the ridiculous title. But then Harry’s smile morphed into a frown. Interesting._

_“So…you’re a pureblood?” Sherlock nodded. Harry’s body stiffened slightly, so the boy had bad experiences with purebloods? He did vaguely recall his cousins Lucius and Draco ranting about the boy…oh dear, what had they done?_

_“I’m assuming from your body language that you are not fond of purebloods, most likely Lucius and Draco’s doing.”_

_“How did you-?”_

_“You’re stiff, like you’re expecting me to blow up or hex you-which I am not. Too many muggles around for that-I’m joking don’t look so serious. Anyway, how did I know about Lucius and Draco? Simple, they are-unfortunately-my cousins on my mother’s side. I heard about what happened last year-are you really a parselmouth? Can you give me a demonstration?-from their obnoxious rants about you. I am thoroughly convinced that Draco is only jealous though, he said that you declined his hand in friendship-not that I’m surprised, he does act like a brat, and Lucius is only looking out for his son. I’m not defending them, just merely pointing out facts so stop looking at me that way. I will attempt to be as pleasant as possible as your health is my top priority at the moment-by the way, I have several potions that you_ will _be taking once you’ve finished eating. Don’t give me that look. Eat. There’s plenty more soup in the cupboards, after that you can go sleep in my room.”_

_“But-”_

_“-No buts. Eat. Potions. Sleep. Simple enough?”_

_Harry nodded. A small smile bloomed on his lips. “I…thank you. No one has ever been this kind to me before.”_

_Nodding, Sherlock ate a spoonful of his soup. He tried not to look too surprised at Harry’s gratefulness, not many people could sit through one of his rants and still be civil with him afterwards, but he knew from the look on Harry’s face that he had seen it. Damn._

_But Harry didn’t say anything. He just smiled and finished his bowl of soup._

*

John was angry, correction, he was _livid_.  Not only had Sherlock left him at a crime scene in the middle of nowhere, but then as he was trying to get home he had been accosted by the man's so called arch enemy.  Who even had an arch enemy nowadays anyway? Honestly! The only good thing that came from the debacle was watching the pale man get angry because he was wrong about John having a brother-Harry Watson was short for _Harriet_. That had been rather amusing.

_Then_ Sherlock sends him several texts claiming that there was something dangerous and he needed John's assistance.  So, after driving halfway across London-because John couldn’t risk apparating with his limp-, John hobbled into 221B only to find that Sherlock wasn’t in any danger. In fact, he wasn’t even doing anything at all!  To say that he was irritated would be an understatement.

Sherlock was lying on the couch with three nicotine patches on his left arm.  He claimed that it helped him think.  The doctor inside John wanted to scream and rant at the other for being so reckless and moronic. For a genius, the man did some very questionable things.

Vaguely, John noted the soft whimpering of an infant down the hall and Harry's lack of presence in the room. He could hear the younger wizard shushing and humming softly, the poor kid must have been really sick.

"Well?" John asked impatiently.  Sherlock was silent.  His hands were folded under his chin and his eyes were pressed closed.  Suddenly they opened.

"Oh, right.  Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?"

"Yeah, I don't like to use mine.  There's always a chance that my number will be recognized.  It's on the web site." Sherlock spoke.

"Yes but both Mrs. Hudson and Harry have phones." The doctor stated.

“Yeah, but Mrs. Hudson is downstairs and Harry’s taking care of the sick child.  I tried shouting for you but you didn’t hear me."

"I was on the other side of London." John pointed out angrily.

Sherlock waved him off.  "Well, there was no hurry." Sherlock told him.  Silence settled between the two.  For Sherlock it was a blessing for it made it easier and for him to think.  For John, it gave him a few moments to regain his composure before he did something stupid like punching the Consulting Detective in the face for making him run about for something so trivial. He closed his brown eyes, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath.

With a clenched jaw, John fished through his pockets until he found his phone.  He offered it to Sherlock who merely let it rest on the palm of his hand.  John rolled his eyes and went over to the nearest chair and sat on it.

"So… is this about the case?"

"Her suitcase, yes obviously.  The murderer took her suitcase, his first big mistake.”

“Okay he took her case, so?”

Sherlock mumbled something about risking it and then pointed to the desk, telling John to use the number that was on it to send a text. He then held out John’s phone trying to get the man to take it.

“Right…”

Footsteps were heard, and there was a long, tired sigh. “Well, I finally got Teddy to fall asleep and-Oh, hello John.” Harry came into the room and gave John a kind smile. The younger man was tired, that much was obvious the poor kid looked like he was going to pass out any second. Feeling bad, John tried offering his chair, but Harry declined with a smile.

“But I’m getting up, you can take the chair.” John told him.

“Oh don’t worry about it John,” Harry smirked, and John felt shivers run down his spine. He had a feeling that that smirk didn’t bode well for anyone. “I have a very comfortable seat.” With that, he plopped right onto Sherlock’s stomach. The taller man groaned as all the air was forced out of him and accidentally dropped John’s phone (if that broke, John was not going to be happy). He glared at Harry-which was actually rather scary and that was a lot coming from John- and shoved him enough to make the younger man topple to the side, his head bumping against Sherlock’s knees.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to work on a case.” Sherlock growled.

Sitting up and rearranging himself so that he was straddling Sherlock’s stomach, Harry jabbed a finger into his lover’s chest. “Yes, actually I _do_ mind.” He hissed. “You and I need to have a talk, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Not now. The case-”

“- _Yes now,_ Sherlock. You’ve been putting this off for long enough. I’ve had it with your childish behavior and-”

John decided that he was just going to ignore the two for now. He didn’t want to get in the middle of their lovers’ quarrel, so he got up and went to the desk (picking up his poor phone on the way) and punched in the number that Sherlock wanted him to text. The only problem was…he had no idea what the message was supposed to be. He wanted to go hide in a corner somewhere when he realized that he needed to interrupt Sherlock and Harry’s argument, he felt so… _shy_ (damn his inner Hufflepuff!).

“What do you-” John will never admit that the end of that sentence was just garbled and unintelligible noises. His face flushed tomato red and he buried his face behind his hands.

There, on the couch, was Sherlock and Harry-still arguing mind you- but Sherlock was-was… _molesting_ the poor kid!

Right _there_!

On the _couch_!

With John still in the room!

Oh sweet Merlin he shouldn’t have come back to 221B after the Warehouse incident!

Slowly, he peaked between his fingers (just to see if they were done! Not because he thought that the scene was _arousing_ , because he didn’t. He wasn’t gay! Not that he didn’t have a problem with people being gay but-bah, you get the point!) and-OH MERLIN IT GOT WORSE! One of Sherlock’s hands was working the top few buttons on Harry’s shirt, his slim fingers fluidly undoing each button,  and…and…going into it and…well to be honest, John didn’t want to think about what the wizard was doing inside the shirt too much. Sherlock’s lips were attached to Harry’s neck, separating every few seconds either to move to a different spot, or so Sherlock could speak. Harry seemed determined to not give in, even though his face was flushed and his eyes were dilating. So Sherlock decided that he was going to move his other hand from Harry’s hip to into…

OH SWEET MERLIN!

NO!

_NO!_

THAT IS NOT OKAY WHILE JOHN IS IN THE ROOM!

Before the situation could get anymore out of hand, John cleared his throat, _loudly._ Harry’s head snapped up and he looked positively mortified.

‘Well good,’ John thought. ‘Serves him right!’

“John I am so sorry I-Sherlock, knock it off!” Unfortunately, Sherlock did not what he was previously doing. So poor John had to watch as Harry’s neck, much to the kid’s humiliation, was attacked by Sherlock’s mouth.

John would happily tell anyone who asked that when Harry hit Sherlock with a stinging curse, the man jumped (he would have fallen off of the couch had he not grabbed onto the back of it for support) and let out a rather high pitched squeak.

Finally free, Harry hopped off of the couch and shuffled out of the room. “I’ll-uh-leave you guys to it then…” He said before he ran off.

There was silence, thick and incredibly awkward.

“Well?” Sherlock asked. His voice was deep and angry. ‘Like he has any right to be angry’ John thought.

“What…um…oh! I forgot to tell you that I met a friend of yours earlier.”

“What?” Sherlock asked and leveled the doctor with an ‘are-you-stupid’ stare.

“Well, not a friend, an enemy.”

“Oh.” Sherlock stopped looking angry and instead became puzzled. “Which one?”

That was not something that John had expected. So he turned to Sherlock and gaped for a moment. “He said he was your arch enemy.”

“Hmm, did he offer you money to spy on me?”

“Yes…” John said slowly

“And did you take it?”

“No…” He replied, just as slow as before.

“Bloody Gryffindor. Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time.”

John blinked. “And who is he?”

“The most dangerous man that you’ve ever met and not my problem right now. The message, John.”

“Right…isn’t this Jennifer Wilson’s number? Wasn’t she the dead woman?”

“Yes, but that’s not important. Type these words exactly: What happened at Lauriston Gardens I must have blacked out. Twenty two Northumberland Street, Please come.” Sherlock spoke slowly so John could get every word for the message.

John was alarmed. His brown eyes shifted from the screen of his phone to the man who was-still-lying on the couch. “Hang on, you blacked out?”

Gray eyes blinked. “What? You-no!” Sherlock shot up and rushed to the other side of the room where he picked up a bright pink suitcase and walked back over to the desk.

Confusion was written over John’s face as he pressed send and looked over at Sherlock. The man had said that the killer would have the suitcase, so if Sherlock had it…

“That’s Jennifer Wilson’s case.”

“Yes, obviously.” John stared at Sherlock until the dark haired man spoke. “Oh, perhaps I should mention that I didn’t kill her.”

“I never said that you did.”

“Why not? Given the text that I just had you send and the fact that I have her suitcase is a perfectly logical assumption.”

“Do people usually assume that you’re the murderer?” John asked. He felt bad now, Sherlock spent so much time helping the police solve crimes (if the events from earlier were anything to go by) only for them to be suspicious of the one person who could get _their_ job done for them. Those…bastards!

“Unfortunately they do.” It was Harry who spoke. He had changed into a simple T-shirt that was a few sizes too big for him (most likely Sherlock’s) and some old blue sweat pants. His hair was free from the ribbon that had previously kept it tied back, so wavy black strands of hair framed his pale face. He came over, knelt next to the Sherlock and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“You have to admit that it’s amusing.”

“Amusing to see people of the law acting like children, yes. Amusing to see you get blamed for something that you didn’t do, no.” Harry spoke, his green eyes were hard.

“Oh please, Lestrade set them straight.”

“But he shouldn’t have to.” Rolling his eyes fondly, Harry gently kissed his lover. “I’m going to bed Sherlock, I’m exhausted.” He kissed Sherlock once more and stood. “You two have fun solving crimes, goodnight boys. And Sherlock, we will be having this conversation tomorrow, whether you like it or not”

“Night.” John said politely.

“Mm, I’ll be up later.” Sherlock pointedly ignored the comment about the conversation, though he had an excited gleam in his gray eyes. Harry smiled and John noticed that there was a slight strain behind it.

“No you won’t.” With that Harry walked off. John could swear that he could hear him murmur something about cases and lack of sleep and from the clenching of Sherlock’s jaw, he could tell that the man had heard it too.

John sat down onto the seat that he was on before. “Well…how did you get the case?”

Sherlock didn’t look at John. “I looked.”

“Where?”

“The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He’d only keep her case by accident, if it was left in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case with drawing attention to themselves-particularly a man-which is statistically more likely. So obviously…” John listened to the man rant about how the driver dropped off the suitcase and how Sherlock went around searching for it. He was mildly impressed at the man for going to such lengths to find a suitcase. It must have taken him a decent amount of time to find it, even if he claimed that it only took him less than an hour.

“And you got all of that because you realized that the suitcase would be pink?”

“Well it had to be pink, obviously.”

“Ah, why didn’t I think of that?” John asked sarcastically.

“Because you’re an idiot.” When John’s head snapped up, Sherlock explained himself. “No-no-no, don’t look at me like that, practically everyone is. Now, what’s missing?”

“From the case? I have no idea.”

“Her phone.” Sherlock said in an ‘it’s-obvious-why-can’t-you-see-it’ tone. “There was no phone on the body, there was no phone in the case we know she had one-that’s her number there that you just texted.”

“So…why did I just send that text?”

“Well, the question is: where is her phone now?”

“Lost?”

“Yes or…”

“…the Murderer has it.” John realized, finally catching on. “Sorry, but did I just text a serial killer? What good would that do?”

And then to prove him wrong, John’s phone went off.

Sherlock got up, explaining why the killer was calling John, and threw on his jacket.

“Wait, so if you won’t talk to the police, then why are you talking to me?”

Sherlock made-dare he say-lost puppy dog eyes at the mantle. “Mrs. Hudson took my skull.”

“So I’m basically filling in for your skull?” The blonde man asked. He would never admit that part of him was rather upset at being that stand-in for a skull. Then he had to question why neither Harry nor Sherlock, but capable grown wizards, couldn’t summon the skull.

“Oh relax, you’re doing fine. Now, are you coming?” Sherlock asked as he tied his purple scarf around his neck.

“Oh you want me to come with you?”

“Yes. I like company when I go out, you’re here, Harry’s sleeping, and I think better when I talk aloud. A skull would just attract too much attention.” Here he smiled at John who-momentarily-smiled back. “Problem?”

“Yeah, Sergeant Donovan said that you get off on this…”

“Yet I said danger and here you are...” Sherlock pointed out. He didn’t even wait for John-much to the doctor’s annoyance-as he rushed out of the living room. After a moment, though, John realized that he hadn’t gone to the front door like he had thought.

*

Harry was not yet asleep, even though he was close to it. So when the door opened and Sherlock walked in, Harry rolled over to look at him.

“Sorry.” The taller man said quietly.

Harry sent him a small smile. “You didn’t wake me up.” He said softly.

“I know.” Sherlock grinned. He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. Leaning down, Sherlock could smell the mint of Harry’s toothpaste. He grinned wider and delivered several soft kisses to the younger man’s lips.

“John and I are heading out.”

“Do you have your wand?”

“What kind of question is that?”

Harry stared up at Sherlock, green eyes connecting with gray. “I _know_ you Sherlock. You might be a Slytherin but you do some very Gryffindor things. _Especially_ when you have a case.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sherlock nuzzled his face against Harry’s, grin still prominent.

This made Harry sigh. He pushed Sherlock back so they were once again looking at each other. “Just be careful, please.”

“Yes _dear_.” Sherlock promised with a roll of his eyes and a long kiss against Harry’s lips.

The younger man pulled away with a laugh. “Thank you, sweetie pie!” The two laughed uncontrollably as Sherlock poked at Harry’s sensitive waist. With another good-bye kiss, Sherlock was out the door leaving Harry all alone in the room.

He knew that he shouldn’t worry. Sherlock was a grown wizard, perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and if anything went wrong, he had John who was also a grown wizard. No matter how frustrated he was with Sherlock, that didn’t mean that he wanted the man hurt.

With a sigh, Harry rolled back to his previous position and stared at the baby monitor. It was magically enhanced to alert Harry if there was a disturbance in the wards of Teddy’s room or if Teddy was fussy. He had expected Teddy to be up all night, like he had the previous full moon, but instead, once he fell asleep, he stayed that way. Not like he was complaining, Harry rather liked having to worry about only one person instead of two. Though, Harry couldn’t help himself, he now worried about John as well (so, two people instead of three…this was going to be a _long_ night).

Harry fell asleep trying to convince himself that John and Sherlock would be alright. 


	3. A Study in Pink Part III

_He had been staying with Sherlock for three days before Mycroft showed up. And those two days were quite…interesting to say the least._

_Sherlock was unlike any other person that Harry had ever met. He was blunt, he barely slept, he barely ate, he had spent the day before running about trying to solve a case for his not-friend Lestrade, and there were several times when Sherlock had locked himself away in the bathroom for hours on end._

_Yet, despite that, the two days hadn’t been all that bad. When Harry woke up in the middle of the night due to a nightmare, or he had trouble falling asleep, Sherlock would play the violin until he was resting again. Harry was allowed to cook whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and eat as much as he could (Sherlock had taken him to the store to stock up on food, much to the man’s displeasure). If Harry asked for help with his schoolwork, the older wizard was there with an answer and a sarcastic remark towards the professor. When Sherlock had a few hours to spare, he had apparrated himself and Harry to_ _France_ _and he had bought Harry a new wardrobe (with Mycroft’s money, of course). And Sherlock had actually let Harry help with some of his experiments, they weren’t too dangerous, but there was a scorch mark on the counter that Harry was sure was permanent._

_The best part was that Sherlock never asked about the Dursleys. He never asked about the abuse, or why he ran away, but deep down Harry knew that Sherlock knew. So for Sherlock to hold himself back from asking…it was…refreshing. Wonderful even._

_Then Mycroft showed up…_

_When the man showed up, he knocked three times on the door. It wasn’t too loud, but Sherlock knew right away who was at the door and he was not happy._

_“Oh sweet Merlin no!” Sherlock groaned and pushed his face into the_   _back cushions of the couch, as if he wanted the furniture to swallow him whole._

_Harry had been doing his summer work on the floor when Mycroft arrived. He looked to the door and then to Sherlock who had made no effort to get up. He bit his lip as he turned his attention back to his essay. Surely the man would answer the door. He just needed a minute._

_Three knocks later and Sherlock was still sitting as still as possible._

_“Sherlock, I know you’re in there. Open the door.” Mycroft called out._

_After waiting for the older wizard to get up (or show any sign of life really) for almost another four minutes, Harry decided that he need to speak up. “Um…Mr. Sherlock?”_

_“I told you not to call me that.” Came the muffled reply._

_“R-right._ Sherlock _, aren’t you going to answer the door?”_

_“No”_

_Green eyes blinked. “No? But-”_

_“I well aware that there is someone at the door, Harry. But I have neither the intention nor desire to let him in.” As if to prove his point, Sherlock rolled over so he was facing the door and sent a nasty glare its way. Had Harry not been concerned for their safety, he would have found the action utterly hilarious._

_“But…who is it?”_

_Sherlock met Harry’s eyes. The teen sucked in a breath at the sheer amount of disgust that was burning in those gray eyes. “H is the most dangerous man that you’ll ever meet.” He said seriously._

_Ice shot through the boy’s veins. The most dangerous man? That didn’t mean Voldemort, did it? Voldemort wasn’t alive though…right? He was only a spirit; a mockery of the man that he had once been. Much quieter than before, Harry repeated his question. He almost didn’t want Sherlock to answer, in case he got the answer that he was dreading._

_“He’s…my brother Mycroft.” Needless to say, any fear and apprehension that Harry felt melted away and was replaced by a mixture of annoyance, frustration and relief that was aimed entirely at Sherlock._

_“Are you kidding me?!” Harry stood up so fast that his essay moved a few feet from where he was working. He rushed to the door, trying to outrun Sherlock who had gotten up (finally) and was chasing Harry yelling at him to ‘Stop! You don’t know what you’re doing! That man is evil! Get back here Harry!’._

_Crashing into the door, Harry won…barely. The downside to being the first there was that Sherlock was literally a step behind him. The added weight nearly tore the door off of its hinges._

_“Ow Sherlock!”_

_“Sherlock? What’s going on in there?” Mycroft called from the other side of the door. He sounded indifferent, but there was an undertone of worry that made Harry even more determined to get Mycroft into the flat._

_“Nothing Mycroft, now go away!”_

_“Sherlock!” Harry hissed._

_“What?!” Sherlock hissed back._

_“That’s your brother!” Sherlock looked unimpressed at the remark._

_“I am well aware of my familial relation to Mycroft. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s evil.”_

_Harry sighed. He really didn’t want to be rude to the man who had been so kind to him (in his own Sherlock-y way), but really!_

_There was a soft tapping at the door. “Sherlock are you alright in there?” Sherlock glared at the faded wood._

_“Yes Mycroft, now go home.”_

_With a huff, Harry decided that he had had enough. Somehow, he managed to wriggle and turn between Sherlock, giving him enough room to open the door a crack and get a peek at Sherlock’s brother. “Hello, you must be Mycroft Holmes.”_

*

Sleepy green eyes cracked open.

Harry sat up and groggily wondered what had caused him to wake up. It was still dark out, the baby monitor wasn’t going off, Sherlock wasn’t in the room, and he did have to use the loo. 

So why the hell was he awake?

A heavy knock at the downstairs door answered his question. 

Shooting out of bed, Harry threw on his sneakers, tucked his wand into his holster, and ran out of the room.

Harry didn’t turn on any lights as he made his way through the flat. In fact, he barely made a sound at all (this he blamed on Sherlock because not only did the man always take Harry with him when he had a case, but Sherlock had been Harry’s…well everything during the war, and he had taught Harry ‘proper’ sneaking techniques). Carefully, he walked over to the window and peeked down at the street. He didn’t see any cars, but there was a group of may be a dozen people at the door.

Shit.

He could hear Mrs. Hudson moving downstairs. Before Harry could even move away from the window, she had the door open and was talking softly to whoever was in charge.

When she let out a soft cry, Harry rushed to the stairs. He made it halfway down before he ran into the group of people that were making their way up the stairs.

“Oh my god. Greg! What the fuck?! You scared the hell out of me!” Harry snapped. Greg gave him a small, apologetic grin.

“Sorry, Mate.”

Harry relaxed slightly. “Right. Now what are you and your little entourage doing in my home at…what time is it?”

“Quarter to Midnight-”

“What are you doing here at quarter to Midnight?”

Here, Greg got uncomfortable. He shifted under the weight of the younger man’s gaze, trying to think of a way to explain the situation to Harry without him snapping.

Fortunately, Anderson decided that he was going to take the issue off of his hands.

“It’s a drugs bust.” He said gleefully. Harry briefly glanced at Anderson, scowling at him, before he zeroed in on Lestrade.

“A ‘drugs bust’” He repeated. He almost growled when he received a slow nod. Why was it today of all days was the day that everything seemed to just work against him. All he wanted was some peace and quiet after dealing with his wailing son all day. Greg knew that Teddy was part Werewolf; he knew that the full moon bothered the infant. So why the hell was he at 221B for a drugs bust in the middle of the night? “Greg…” Harry trailed off, warning in his tone.

“Yeah, I know what you’re going to say and-”

“Oh do you? Greg do you know what day today is?”

“Umm.” Harry nearly smacked his forehead at the unasked question.

“Okay, Greg, let me rephrase. Teddy is _sick_.” That seemed to do the trick. Greg’s eyes widen and he looked like he was going to start spewing apologies. “Don’t, Greg, just don’t.” Harry stopped him before he could say anything. “I’m going to talk to Mycroft about this later though. I hope you realize that.”

Greg nodded. “I’m really sorry Harry. I forgot, but we can’t just leave. All of the paperwork’s been filled out and-”

“You won’t find anything.” Harry told him, interrupting before anything else could be said. He was staring at Lestrade like he was trying to send a telepathic message to him; trying to get through to the muggle that this was the most dangerous and incredibly stupid thing that he had done (which was saying a lot). “If anyone wakes up my son, there will be hell to pay.” He said to the group.

“Is that a threat?” Someone-oh great Donovan was here too-hissed.

Harry narrowed his eyes on the woman. “No, it’s a promise. Isn’t that right Lestrade?”

Poor Greg looked like a deer that got caught in the headlights. He gulped and nodded, never once breaking eye contact with his friend (brother-in-law?). “If that baby wakes up, the idiot who is responsible will be on desk duty for months.” He said seriously.

Sighing, Harry led the group up the stairs and into his flat.

Never before had Harry been so grateful for Mycroft’s paranoia. He had convinced Sherlock to ward the flat so all of the magical artifacts and magical enhancements wouldn’t be seen or would be altered to (certain) muggles. Mrs. Hudson and Greg could still see everything, but Harry didn’t have to worry about the rest of the unit seeing things that didn’t need to be seen.

Greg immediately sat in Sherlock’s chair. Both he and Harry smirked as they both knew how annoyed Sherlock would be, though Harry’s smirk was tighter.

“I hope you get your point across, Greg.”

“Yeah, well, Sherlock needs to stop withholding evidence from me.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry sat across from Greg and waited.

*

Five minutes and thirty seven seconds was all it took before things started to get worse.

Harry understood that the unit was here for a drugs bust (no matter how much of a farce it seemed) and therefore had to be thorough in their search. But when Harry had noticed that Anderson had been out of sight the _entire_ time, he got worried.

“Greg, I’ll be right back.” He said as he got up.

“Where are you going?”

Harry smiled slightly. “I’m going to check up on Teddy.”

Lestrade sent him off with a wave of his hand. Harry had to restrain himself from running. As much as he wanted to get to his son as quickly as possible, there were a dozen cops who would take the action as a sign that he was hiding something.

He had almost reached the nursery when Teddy started crying. Without thinking, Harry bolted. The nursery door was wide open, Teddy’s cries echoing through the hall, and a man’s frantic hushes followed.

“Shh, shh! Come on shut up! Please?!” Harry saw red when he heard Anderson’s voice.

“ANDERSON!” Stomping into the room, Harry took pleasure in watching the man cower away. He should be afraid! Other than yelling at the idiot, Harry completely ignored him in favor of calming Teddy. The poor baby was crying louder than he had been earlier. His face was already red and splotchy and big tears were pouring down his cheeks. “Oh my little Teddy-Bear, it’s okay. Shh, Teddy, I’m right here.” He picked up the baby and held him to his chest, gently bouncing him and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Greg was in the room in seconds, looking furious as he caught Anderson trying to escape. “ANDERSON! What did I say less than ten minutes ago!” He didn’t give the man any time to respond. He just sent him out with a growl, telling him that as of tomorrow he was on desk duty for two months. Anderson was out of the room in seconds. Sighing, Greg rubbed a hand down his face. He watched as Harry tried to comfort the screaming baby, and couldn’t help the pang of guilt that twisted inside him, telling him that it was his fault that Teddy was suffering. “Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t think that he’d be stupid enough to actually-”

“Greg, look at the mattress. It’s messed up. Not from just Teddy sleeping on it. That moron was looking under the mattress while my son was sleeping!”

Anger bubbled in Greg. He had thought that everyone in his team knew better than to disrupt a sleeping child. Clearly he had been wrong. “He will be punished Harry. Two weeks suspension and then two months of desk duty. Minimum.” He growled.

Harry sent him a tired smirk. “Wow Greg, that’s harsh for you.”

“Yeah, well, I have to do something.” Greg shrugged. “And it’s got to be something worthwhile or Mycroft will make him ‘mysteriously’ disappear. He’s very protective of you three and if anything ever happened to his little nephew…” Greg trailed off, letting the unspoken message linger.

“I’m just glad _one_ of the Holmes brothers accepts Teddy as family.” Harry said quietly. Frowning, Greg pulled Harry against his side, offering as much support as he could.

“He’ll come around eventually.” Harry smiled. Teddy’s cries had turned into sleepy whimpers, but his eyes were still wide open and filled with tears. “Come on, let’s go and wait for that man of yours to get back.”

They walked out of the nursery together, Teddy still clutched in Harry’s arms because he no longer felt comfortable leaving Teddy alone while the cops were here. When they passed Harry and Sherlock’s room, Greg stopped and then ushered Harry back to the living room, saying that he’d be there shortly.

Harry had been sitting in his seat for less than a minute when he saw a very put out Anderson being followed by a furious Lestrade. “Anderson, stay out here. If you leave my sights again you’ll be on desk duty until you retire!” With that, Lestrade collapsed into Sherlock’s chair.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Trust me, you don’t.”

*

_Harry managed to elbow Sherlock out of the way enough to Let Mycroft slip inside. Mycroft smiled at Harry, much to Sherlock’s annoyance, and thanked him._

_“Ah yes. You must be Mr. Potter. I must say, you are quite different than I expected. After all, not many people can stay with Sherlock for this long and not get irritable.” Frowning, Harry took a few steps towards the elder Holmes and all but jabbed him in the chest with his index finger._

_“That’s not very nice, Mr. Mycroft. Sherlock is your brother. You shouldn’t suggest that he’s a menace to be around. He’s been quite the opposite, in fact and-” Hands grasped Harry’s shoulders and dragged him backwards until he was flush against Sherlock._

_“Now now Harry, if Mycroft wants to live in this delusion that I’m a terror to be around, let him. It will certainly make talking with him more entertaining.”_

_Mycroft sent the pair a disapproving stare. “Sherlock, you know that that is not what I meant.”_

_“Obviously.” A sigh escaped the man’s lips. “Why are you here Mycroft?”_

_“We have a few important matters to discuss.” Here, Mycroft sent Harry a meaningful look._

_This was not going to be fun._

_*_

Sherlock stormed into the followed closely by John. His eye zeroed in on Lestrade and he all but growled at the inspector. “What are you doing?”

“Well I knew you’d find the case, I’m not stupid.”

John walked over to the chair that Harry was in while Sherlock and Lestrade went back and forth. The poor man looked like he hell and the little baby that he was holding didn’t look any better. That must have been Teddy. The kid was actually quite cute, chubby cheeks and limbs, messy tuft of dark hair, wide eyes and-

_Sweet Merlin_!

The kid’s eyes _changed color!_

It wasn’t an obvious change-blue to emerald green to a dark-ish gray to light brown and back again- to everyone because from where Teddy’s eyes were peeking up at John over Harry’s shoulder, he was the only one who could see them.

Disbelief and wonder crossed John’s face. Harry tiredly smiled up at him, adjusting Teddy so the older wizard could get a better look at the baby.

“His mother was a Metamorphmagus. She passed the gene onto him.” He explained, whispering so that no one could hear them. Teddy looked up at John with big, watery, color changing eyes (yes, John will admit that his heart did melt a little. He doubted that anyone could look at this baby and not be affected by him.).

“How do they-”

“-Not see? A few little charms here and there and all the muggles see is a cranky baby with blue-green eyes and messy black hair.”

John’s eyebrows creased. “That sounds an awful lot like he looks like your biological son. Yours and Sherlock’s.” The doctor watched as Harry squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip to the point where it looked like it was going to bleed, and takes deep, shaky breaths. Eventually, Harry opened his eyes (they were redder then they had been before) and looked at John.

“I know.” He croaked, sounding like he was on the brink of tears.

“-It’s a drugs bust!” The two men looked over at Lestrade. He was grinning at Sherlock, receiving a venomous look from the aforementioned man.

John couldn’t help it, he chuckled. “Seriously,” He asked. “This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?”

Harry stiffened next to him. “Um, John…”

Sherlock stepped over to the other man and looked decidedly uncomfortable. “John…” Sherlock trailed off awkwardly. Lestrade looked between the three of them, smile still in place but slowly dropping, and watched their interaction with barely concealed interest.

“I’m pretty sure that you could search this flat all day and you wouldn’t find anything that you would call _recreational_.”

“John, you probably want to shut up now.” Sherlock glared. From his seat, Harry groaned.

“Yeah but come on…” The doctor turned and looked the younger man in the eyes. Sherlock was still glaring, trying to convey the message that…oh- _Oh_! “No way, you?” Oh yes, somewhere, not too deep inside John was pleased that this man who was insanely brilliant, and very imposing would do something as human and _average_ as recreational drugs.

“Shut up.” He turned away and hissed something at Lestrade.

“Oh no, Anderson’s my sniffer dog.” The mention of the man seemed to put Sherlock into high alert. He grabbed On of Harry shoulders and searched the flat. “What? Anderson! What are you doing here on a drugs bust?”

“Oh, I volunteered.” The tone made Sherlock’s jaw clench. Harry muttered something about _‘the bastard waking Teddy up’_ , and John too was beyond pissed at the arrogant man.

“They all did. They’re not-strictly speaking- _on_ the drugs squad, but they’re very keen.” Lestrade said, moving his hands as he explained.

Agent Donovan walked out of the kitchen. “Are these human eyes?” She asked in disgust, holding the jar up.

“Put those back!”

“They were in the microwave!”

“It’s an _experiment_.” Sherlock stressed. Everyone could see that he was getting agitated. He was walking around, watching as the unit rifled through his things.

Lestrade stood up. “You know, you could start helping us.”

“This is childish.”

“Yeah well I’m dealing with a child.”

Sherlock glared at both Lestrade and Harry when Harry snorted, not even bothering to mask it, and said: “Yeah, join the club.”

From there, the wizard and the detective went back and forth. Lestrade would patronize Sherlock for going off on his own, then Sherlock would put in his own two cents. Their conversation ended with Sherlock and Lestrade showing each other their nicotine patches.

“Harry won’t let me near a cigarette.” Sherlock had said.

“Yeah, Mycroft thinks it’s a disgusting habit.” Lestrade had replied.

“Are they always like this?” John asked Harry. He received a shrug.

“For the most part, yeah. Its part of their weird not-friendship they have.”

“Right…”

“So, we’ve found Rachel.” The two wizards’ attention was brought back to the men in front of them.

“Right, who is she?” Sherlock asked.

“Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.” John’s heart went out for the poor girl. To loose her mother…

Sherlock, on the other hand, was confused. “Daughter…? Why would she write her daughter’s name? Why?”

“Never mind that.” Anderson, ever the idiot, interrupted. “We found the case. According to _someone,_ the murderer has the case. And we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath.”

“I’m not a psychopath, Anderson.” Sherlock said in his you-are-an-idiot-and-I-shouldn’t-waste-my-breath-talking-to-you tone. “I’m a high functioning sociopath, do your research.”  He turned back to Lestrade. “You need to bring Rachel in and you need to question her, I need to question her.”

“She’s dead.”

John frowned and Harry bit his lip and when Sherlock went on, John’s frown deepened. “Excellent. How long? And how? What’s the connection? There has to be one.”

“Well…I doubt it since she’s been dead for fourteen years. _Technically_ , she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago”

“That’s not right…why would she do that? Why would she, why?”

“Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yeah, sociopath, I can see that now.” Anderson said.

Sherlock turned. “She didn’t think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor, with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort, it would have hurt!”

“You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that ha makes them take it. Maybe, he-I don’t know-talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.”

“That was ages ago!” Sherlock said, frustrated. “Why would she still be upset?” Whatever composure that Harry had had, he lost it. He let out a quiet sob and excused himself from the room. Lestrade looked uncomfortable, John astounded, and Sherlock…he actually looked a bit sorry.

“Not good?”

“A bit not good, yeah.”

“Yeah, but John, if you were dying, what would you say in your last few seconds?”

“Please, god, let me live…”

“Oh, use your imagination.”

“I don’t have to.” John told Sherlock that he was going to check on Harry and make sure that he was alright and that the detective should just help Lestrade.

*

When Harry left, he went to his and Sherlock’s room. He gently laid Teddy out on the bed and then laid down next him. A tear or two slipped down his face, but he wouldn’t let anymore fall, not when Lestrade’s unit was here and John and Sherlock were down the hall. Not when Teddy was laying next to him, quiet, but still suffering from the affect that the full moon had on him. No he would wait until he was alone to grieve.

_Knock Knock_

“Harry?” John called from the other side of the door. “Harry, can I come in for a moment?”

“Um,” Harry placed a quick glamour on his face so John wouldn’t see the tear streaks. “Sure.” John opened the door enough so he could slip inside and not let anyone see, offering privacy in case Harry was too upset. He came in and stood awkwardly until Harry patted the bed near him. Sitting didn’t make John feel any better.

“Are…are you alright?”

“I’m fine John.” _Lie._

“Well, it’s just, everything that’s had to do with babies has upset you since we got here. Well, not everything, but-”

Harry interrupted to save John from embarrassing himself any further. “John, I’m tired. It’s been a really stressful day I just want to…to rest for a few minutes. On my own; okay?” It was absolute bullshit, but John didn’t push Harry any further.

He stood up and walked out of the room.

*

Mrs. Hudson was in the doorway when John walked back. “Oh dear, they’re making such a mess. What are they looking for?”

“It’s a drugs bust.” John said. Immediately, Mrs. Hudson’s hand went to her hip and her eyes widened, alarmed.

“But they’re just for my hip! They’re herbal soothers-”

“Shut up! Just-Everybody shut up!” Sherlock yelled. “Don’t move-don’t speak-don’t breath! I’m trying to think! Anderson, face the other way, you’re putting me off.” After some arguing between Anderson and Lestrade (it more like Anderson whining like a child), Anderson turned to face the other direction. Mrs. Hudson tried to ask about the taxi waiting downstairs but Sherlock, as frustrated as he was, well at her and she scurried off. Finally- _finally_ Sherlock was able to think.

And _oh,_ what a glorious feeling it was. Suddenly, Rachel made sense. How could have not seen it before. Jennifer Wilson was certainly a clever woman.

“She never lost her phone…she planted it on him! And when she got out of the car, she knew she was going to her death. She left the phone to lead us to her killer.”

“But how?”

“What? What do you mean how?” Lestrade shrugged. “Rachel! Don’t you see? _Rachel!_ ” No one seemed to understand the connection. Not like Sherlock could. “Look at you lot. You’re all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is _not_ a name-”

“Then what is it?” John asked. He was at the point where he was going to scream at Sherlock (or smack him with his cane because he was _right there_ and he could just pretend that he was moving it, no one would say anything and he doubted that anyone would _really_ care.) if he didn’t hurry up. They needed to catch a killer!

“John, on the luggage, there’s an email address.” The taller man went to the desk and typed in the email as John read it to him. She didn’t have a laptop, so that means she did her business on her phone-it’s a smart phone so its email enabled. There’s a website for her account. Her user name is her email address and all together, her password is…”

“Rachel.” John finished. He walked over to the desk and stared at the laptop over Sherlock’s shoulder.  

“So we get to read her emails. So what?” Anderson griped.

“Anderson, don’t talk out loud, you lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do a lot more than just read her emails. It’s a smart phone-it’s got GPS-which means if you loose it you can locate it online. She’s going to lead us right to the man who killed her.”

“Unless he got rid of it.”

John turned around to look at the inspector. “No, we know he didn’t.”

The page wasn’t loading and Sherlock was getting impatient. John watched as he tapped his hands against the wooden desk, then the younger wizard started tapping his feet, then his leg started bouncing. Honestly, couldn’t this man wait a few seconds?

Mrs. Hudson came back up the stairs and asked about the taxi. Sherlock, as impatient as he was, welcomed the minor distraction from the computer. He got up and asked her (with the not so subtle implication to _go back downstairs Mrs. Hudson_ ) if she had taken her evening medication yet. He walked off and went to talk to Lestrade.

The page loaded. John sat in front of the computer and zoomed in so he could get an address. But…That couldn’t have been right.

“Sherlock…”

“Where is it? Where?”

“It’s here…it’s in 221 Baker Street.”

“How could it be here?” Everyone was confused. Sherlock looked around, trying to see if he had missed something. John tried to see if it was sitting anywhere, perhaps Sherlock had it and forgot about it? No, that wasn’t possible.

Lestrade vocalized the same thing. Sherlock was aggravated. Did the man truly think that he was _that_ incompetent? Sherlock was _certainly_ _not_ Anderson. No he was far more intelligent. He was perceptive…so what was he missing?

“We texted him and he called back.” John told Lestrade. He remembered that from earlier so there was no way that Sherlock could have the phone. When Lestrade announced to his team that they were looking for a phone, John wanted to smack his forehead. Honestly, didn’t he _just_ hear what John had said?

Sherlock on the other hand was thinking.

A man walked up the stairs, stopping behind Mrs. Hudson. _Someone we trust, even if we don’t know them._

_Who passes, unnoticed in a crowd wherever they go?_

_Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?_

It all started making sense. The connection was getting clearer. All those people, all of the victims had to get from point A to point B. They wouldn’t walk so…

His phone beeped. ** _Come with me._**

The man behind Mrs. Hudson turned around and walked down the stairs, expecting Sherlock to follow.

**Cab Driver.**

“Sherlock, are you okay?” John asked. Not paying much attention, Sherlock told John that he was fine. “So how can the phone be here?”

“Dunno.”

Sighing, John stood up. “I’ll try it again.”

“Good idea.” With that, Sherlock started walking out of the flat.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Fresh air, just popping outside for a moment, won’t be long.” And then Sherlock was gone.

*

Harry came back out shortly after Sherlock left, leaving Teddy in his room since the baby had fallen asleep. He asked John where Sherlock was and wasn’t too surprised to hear that he was no longer in the flat, or that he had gotten into a cab.

“All right every one, start packing up, there’s nothing here.” Lestrade called out to his team. There was a collective sigh throughout the group. Some people were happy to finally leave, others (namely Donovan and Anderson) were frustrated that they didn’t get the chance to find anything. The detective walked over to Harry and John and gave Harry an apologetic pat on the shoulder. “Sorry, Mate. Had I remembered what day it was, we wouldn’t have come.” He said quietly.

John heard and raised an eyebrow. What did today have to do with anything?

“It’s alright, Greg. Teddy’s gone back to sleep.”

“Don’t you have a potion to help the poor kid out?”

Harry shook his head, sending loose strands of hair everywhere. “No. There’s only one potion and it’s meant for a full blooded…and anyways, it dangerous for even a regular full blooded infant. Draco thinks that if we give it to Teddy, he could die.” Tears gathered in Harry’s eyes again as the thought of another infant dying came to mind.

Greg understood, to some degree. He wrapped Harry in a short hug before saying good-bye to both wizards and running off to make sure that the rest of his team (Anderson) and equipment were out of the flat. He left not long after, saying: ‘Remember Harry, he’s a great man. Give him time, and he might just be a good one.’

“What was that all about?” John asked. He knew that there was something going on, something to do with Teddy (and another, totally different something that was going on with Harry) and he wanted to help.

Harry sent him a tight smile. “Teddy’s sick John.”

“With what? I’m a doctor, I can help-”

“Unless you’re a genius at potions, you can’t. It’s a genetic sickness. His father had it and passed it onto Teddy. The only good thing is that he doesn’t have it as bad as his father did.”

“What disease does he have?”

For a moment, John thought that Harry was ignoring him. The younger man stared at the wall behind John, green eyes slightly unfocused and eyebrows scrunched together and lips pressed into a tight line. Then his eyes shifted to John. “What’s your opinion on werewolves, John?”

*

Sherlock was not amused with this man. He knew now that this was the cabbie that stopped at Northumberland street, this was the killer (only he didn’t kill them, they killed themselves). But the imbecile goaded him into getting into the cab with him-really, Sherlock only left for the purpose of getting more information.

The cabbie mentioned something about a fan, but he didn’t offer anything more. Sherlock was more than annoyed with this man.

*

“Werewolves? Harry, first off, I’m a doctor. Secondly, I’m a muggleborn. I didn’t grow up in the wizarding world, so to me everyone is equal. I just don’t _do_ prejudice. ” Harry smiled slightly, satisfied with the answer.

“Teddy’s father was a werewolf. He was bitten as a child.” Here, John let out a mortified noise. Harry nodded in agreement. “I know, it was Fenrir Greyback. That bastard’s dead, thank Merlin. But, even though he was a werewolf, Remus was a great man. He always denied himself a family because he didn’t want to burden his wife or damn his children. Then he met Tonks and, well, the rest is history. They died in the war; Teddy was only about a month old when they died. I’ve- _We’ve_ had him since. They never really got to experience the full moon with him. He’s only half werewolf, so he doesn’t change, but John…he’s in so much _pain_. I want to help him, I really do, but the only way to help is to create an entirely new wolfsbane potion. My friend Draco is working on it, he has been since the war ended, but he needs help.”

“Sherlock’s.” John assumed.

“Yes, but he’s being so fucking _stubborn_!” John chuckled at the outburst, but smothered it when Harry glared at him. “Yeah-yeah, laugh it up Doctor Watson. Just keep in mind, the longer he waits, the longer we have to deal with a baby being basically tortured once a month.” The mention of Teddy being tortured made John’s heart break a little. The tiny, adorable baby with the color changing eyes didn’t deserve that. It also overpowered the fact that John’s heart had skipped a beat when Harry had said that they would be taking care of the baby, as in _together_ (because really, it meant nothing, okay? John wasn’t gay at all. Nope).

“Err, right. You know, I think I’m going to try and locate the phone again, then I’ll head back to my place.” He went back over to the laptop and refreshed the search. As he waited he went around the room and gathered his things. He was back to using his cane as he walked.

“You know, you’re more than welcome to stay the night, John. I can transfigure a bed for you until we move your things in.” John thanked him, but declined the offer. He wanted to go home and pack what little belongings he had.

_**BEEP** _

Harry and John walked over to the computer and looked to see where the phone was.

“That’s…impossible.” John said, making Harry frown.

“Why? Where was it before?”

“It was here.”

“But, the killer has the phone…so that means he was here.”

“Oh…sweet…Merlin.” John grabbed his coat and laptop and started to walk out of the flat.

“John, John wait! Where are you going?!”

“I’m going after Sherlock!” Harry went to get his coat, but John stopped him. “No, you stay here with Teddy, in case he wakes up again.”

“But-”

“-No. Stay. I’ll bring him back Harry, and then you can yell at him for leaving.” Harry was reluctant, but he agreed to stay behind. It was irritating that John insisted that he stay, but he understood. John wasn’t doing it to be mean, it was for Teddy, because of the full moon.

“Fine. Go.”

And go John did. As he ran down the stairs, Harry eyed the cane that leaned innocently against the desk. 

*

Sherlock and the Cabbie walked into a dark classroom. The cabbie asked for Sherlock’s approval, because the wizard was going to die there after all. The least the cabbie do was make sure that it was acceptable. Sherlock looked at the man, eyebrow raised and told him that he was not going to die.

“That’s what they all say.”

They sat at one of the long tables, facing each other, and talked.

Well, talked is putting it lightly. It wasn’t peaceful because of the two tiny bottles with pills sitting in between them, being the subject of their ‘conversation’. The cabbie wanted Sherlock to play his little game of chance…too bad the wizard wasn’t interested.

No, Sherlock sat there and deduced and listened. And honestly, he wasn’t impressed. This ‘genius’ in front of him was nothing more than average man of average intelligence. Of course, Sherlock’s bitterness to the man may or may not have stemmed from the fact that he had called Sherlock stupid.

*

The moment that John was dropped off at the college, he ran, trying to find the missing wizard. He ran into the first building that he saw and prayed that he wasn’t too late.

*

Fed up with the muggle, Sherlock took the lead of their little ‘game’. He went into what Harry affectionately called ‘show off mode’. He went on about how the cabbie’s wife had left him a while ago, and had taken his children with her, about how even though the cabbie doesn’t get to see his children, he still thinks about them, about how the cabbie was dying. After the cabbie explained that he had an aneurism in his brain, the wizard kept going. He explained how the cabbie wasn’t killing because of some desire to outlive as many people as possible or for fun. No, he was doing it out of love, for his children.

“When I die, I won’t give much to my kids. Not a lot of money comes from driving cabs.”

“Or serial killing.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Surprise me.” Sherlock said.

“I have a sponsor.” Well…that was certainly…new. “For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they’ll be. You see, it’s nicer than you think.”

“And who would be the sponsor of a serial killer?”

“He’d be a fan of Sherlock Holmes.” From there, they talked about Sherlock’s ‘fan’. Without directly saying his name of course, which irritated Sherlock to no end.

“All right, enough of this. It’s time to choose.”

*

Harry paced in the kitchen, waiting for someone-anyone to call and let him know that Sherlock and John were alright. He had gotten a call moments before from Greg, but he was only letting him know that he was going after the two men.

Now, he had to wait.

On the table, his phone rang. It was some piece of classical music that Sherlock downloaded onto his phone that sounded positively evil.

**_Mycroft_**.

He picked up the phone and greeted the older man. “Hello Mycroft. What can I do for you?”

“My brother and that new flat-mate of yours are fine you know.”

Harry smiled. “I can’t help but worry, though. You know that.”

“Likewise. Despite what Sherlock might think, he’s still my brother. I’m on my way there now.”

“Oh dear, well we’ll know if Sherlock’s been harmed in any way if he doesn’t run or argue with you the moment he sees you.” Harry said, chuckling a little to ease his nerves.

“Yes. I must go now, Harry.”

“Alright. Don’t forget, we’re all having dinner next weekend. I’ve already told Greg, so you can’t weasel your way out of it.”

“Harry, I’m offended that you would imply such a thing.” Mycroft said in a mock-scandalized tone.

Harry laughed, said his good-bye, and hung up. He felt so much better.

*

John was worried. He couldn’t find Sherlock in this giant place, and he feared that with Sherlock alone with the serial killer that he may have already been too late.

*

Sherlock was used to having guns pointed at his face, it comes with the job. He’s seen many different types, studied them to the point where he knew without a doubt what was a real gun and what was a fake.

The gun that the cabbie was pointing at his face was _definitely_ fake. When he was offered the pill or a shot to the head…well it wasn’t a hard decision.

“I’ll have the gun please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. The gun.”

“You don’t want to phone a friend?” Sherlock could see that the cabbie knew he was caught. Sherlock knew that the gun was a fake and that by choosing the gun option, he would walk out of there and the authorities would apprehend the cabbie.

“The. Gun.”

The trigger was pulled back, and a small, almost pathetic flame shot out. Sherlock smirked. “Well, this has been very…interesting. I look forward to the court case.” He said as he stood up and walked away.

The cabbie turned in his seat. “Just before you go, did you figure it out? Which one’s the good bottle?” Sherlock stopped.

“Of course. Child’s play.” The cabbie motion towards the bottles.

“Oh? Well which one is it then? Which one would you have picked so I can know whether or not I could have beaten you?” That did it. Sherlock turned around, determined to win, and grabbed a bottle. “Ooh, interesting.”

They opened the bottles and emptied the pills onto their hands. “So what do you think? Shall we?”

*

John had a good feeling about the room at the end of the hall. Sherlock had to be in there, he just knew it. He had taken out his wand a while back and used a point me spell, it was pointing to the door at the end of the hall. He opened the doors and…nothing. It was as empty as the rest of the rooms. He was about to leave the room hen something caught his eye. There, in the building directly across from him, was Sherlock and the killer. They were about to…

No.

_NO!_

“SHERLOCK!” He yelled.

Sherlock couldn’t be stupid enough to ingest the pill! He knew that he would die! John would _not_ let that happen. He promised Harry that he would bring the other man home with him.

He reached for his gun. He couldn’t use his wand without getting into some serious shit with the Ministry. There was no way that he was letting the killer go now. Aiming with military precision, he fired.

*

The shot startled Sherlock so much that he jumped and dropped the pill that was in his hand. He maneuvered his way to the window to try and get a look at the cabbie’s killer.

There was no one there. Just two bullet holes through the glass windows, one in front of him and the other on the building that was across from him.

The cabbie coughed and wheezed from where he had fallen on the ground. Sherlock grabbed the pill that he had chosen and put it close to the cabbie’s face. “Was I right? I was, wasn’t I? Did I get it right?!” The cabbie just smirked and turned his head. Sherlock, frustrated, threw the pill at the man. He wouldn’t get an answer out of him and he knew it. Perhaps he would tell him something else though. “Okay, tell me this. Your sponsor, who was it? My fan? I want a name.” The cabbie refused. “You’re dying, but there’s still time to make you suffer.” The wizard pressed his foot against the wound, almost relishing in the screams that came out of the muggle (no, he was not an idiotic blood supremacist; this man was scum and deserved every ounce of pain). “A NAME!”

“M-MORIARTY!”

It was the cabbie’s final words, and though it was a name, it didn’t clear anything up for Sherlock. He silently repeated the name and went through his mind palace to see if he had anything about a Moriarty.

Nothing.

*

Later, Sherlock was sitting on the back of an ambulance as Lestrade and his team went around doing their business. Several times the EMT would drape a blanket around his shoulders, and every time Sherlock would shrug it off.

Finally, Lestrade made his way over to where Sherlock was. “Why have I got this blanket?” Sherlock asked, confused. “They keep putting this blanket on me.”

“It’s for shock.”

“I’m not in shock.”

“Yeah…but some of the guys want to take photographs.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“So the shooter…no sign?”

“Cleared off before we got here. We could follow him, I suppose, but we’ve got nothing to go on.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly, and then he went off. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. The bullet that they dug out was from a hand gun, kill shot over that distance with that kind of weapon, we’re looking for a practiced shot. But not just a marksman, a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly, he’s acclimatized to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger though, so strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man, probably with a history with military service,” Here, his gaze shifted and landed on John and…when had he gotten there? “And…nerves of steel,” John looked away and it clicked. Oh, John had killed the cabbie…well that sure was something. “You know what…ignore me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Ignore everything that I just said. It’s the uh…the shock talking.” He walked off, or tired to anyway, Lestrade interrupted him when all he wanted to do was go and talk to John.

“I’ve still got questions!”

“Oh what now? I’m in shock, look, I’ve got a blanket!”

“Sherlock!”

“ _And_ I just caught your serial killer. More or less.” Reluctantly, Lestrade let him go, telling him that they’d continue the next day. He also made him promise to hurry on home because the last thing that Lestrade wanted to deal with was a pissed off Harry.

Sherlock nodded, only vaguely listening to the inspector as he walked over to his new flat-mate.

“Um, Sergeant Donovan has been explaining everything. Two pills? Dreadful it is. Just dreadful.”

“Good shot.”

“Yes, yes it was a very good shot. Must have been, through that window.”

“Well you would know.” Sherlock quietly pointed out all of the details that showed that John had actually been the one to shoot the killer. He also told John to avoid the court case, even though John wouldn’t get into much (if any at all) trouble. “Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m alright.”

“You did just kill a man.”

“True, but he wasn’t a very nice man.” Sherlock accepted the answer. John hardly seemed fazed and if he was fine with it, Sherlock wouldn’t push.

“Yes.”

“And frankly, he was a terrible cabbie.” Sherlock grinned. They started to walk off, preferably to find a secluded place so they could apparate back to 221B.

“Yeah that’s true, you should have seen the route he took to get here.” Sherlock and John laughed. They caught the attention of the cops around them, which earned them a disapproving stare or two. John’s chuckles faded and he hushed his friend(?).

“We can’t giggle, this is a crime scene, stop it.”

“Well, you’re the one who shot him, don’t mind me.”

Donovan walked by them and they stopped talking about the incident until she passed.

Something bothered John. Something he couldn’t figure out. “You were going to take that damned pill, weren’t you?”

“Of course I wasn’t. Biding my time, you turn up…” Sherlock trailed off, looking smug.

“What, are you kidding? That’s how you get your kicks isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re clever.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” They grinned at each other.

“Dinner?”

“Starving.”

“Good, we’ll head back to 221B and order take-away. Oh, and don’t tell Harry about the pill. He won’t react well.”

“Sure sure.”

As they went to find a good place to apparate, John noticed a man stepping out of a dark car. “Uh, Sherlock, that’s him. That’s the man from earlier.”

“Oh I know exactly who that is.” They turned and took a few steps nearer to the strange man and his car.

“So, another case cracked by Sherlock Holmes. How very public spirited.” The man said. “Though, that’s never really your motivation, is it?”

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked.

“As ever, I’m concerned about you. So was Harry.”

“Yes, I’ve been hearing about your concern.”

The man laughed. “Always so aggressive. Did it ever occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?”

“Oddly enough, no.” Sherlock replied sarcastically, making the man roll his eyes.

“We have more in common than you’d like to believe. This petty feud between us is so childish, Sherlock. People will suffer. And you know how it upsets Mummy.”

John blinked once, and then twice. Mummy? What the hell?

“I upset her?” Sherlock asked in mock-shock. “Me?” He said in a way that must have implied a lot from the way that the man shifted. “It wasn’t me that upset her, Mycroft.”

“Now hang on,” John interrupted. “Wait…Mummy? Who’s Mummy?”

“Mother, our mother.” Sherlock said. “This is my brother, Mycroft.” The man-Mycroft (Sherlock’s brother!), looked at John with a raised eyebrow. “Putting on weight again Mycroft?”

“Loosing it, in fact.”

John still couldn’t wrap his head around the whole thing. “He’s your brother?” He asked the younger (was Sherlock younger? He certainly looked younger.) Holmes man.

“Of course he’s my brother.”

“So he’s not…” John didn’t know how to voice his thoughts. Mycroft and Sherlock both looked at him in confusion. “Umm, I don’t know…a criminal mastermind?”

“Close enough.”

“Oh for goodness sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government-”

“-Both Magical and Muggle, Mycroft. And Don’t listen to him John, he practically is the British Government. That is when he’s not too busy being the secret service, the CIA, the magical ambassador, good evening Mycroft. I have a distressed wizard at home that I need to console, so please, try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic.”

“As if you’d be travelling by muggle means.” Sherlock ignored him and walked off. John started to follow, but stopped and looked at Mycroft.

“Hang on, so when you say you’re concerned about him, you really mean that you’re actually concerned?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So, this actually is a childish feud?”

“He’s always been so resentful even after all I do for him, you can imagine the Christmas dinners.” Mycroft watched his brother’s retreating form as he spoke. John watched too, and absently agreed (he was not ogling the man, despite how handsome he may or may not have been!).

“Wait…no…god no. I…umm…better go. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Doctor Watson.”   

*

The moment that they apparated into the flat, the two men were pulled into an awkward three-way hug. Harry held them tightly for a few moments before he pulled back to let them breathe.

“Thank Merlin you two are alright! What happened?”

Sherlock shrugged. He slowly took off his scarf and coat and placed them onto his chair. Harry’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh, you know, the usual. The killer tried to get me. But, luckily, I had John there. He shot the man before anything could happen.” Harry turned to John and gave him another hug.

“Thank you for protecting him, John.” He said quietly.

Tentatively, John hugged back. Despite what he had told Sherlock earlier, he had just killed a man. He may have been a bad man, but John saved lives, or did his best to anyway. Taking a life twisted something inside him.

Harry seemed to understand. He squeezed harder and then loosened his grip and took a step back. “Well, now that that’s over with, you two must be starving.”

John smiled. “Yeah, Sherlock said something about take-away?”

“We were thinking Chinese. What do you think, Harry?”

“I think it’s a great idea! I’ll go get a menu.”

As he walked off to the kitchen, Sherlock looked over at John and grinned. Thinking that Harry was out of hearing distance, he said: “It’ll be much better than that pill, any way.”

“WHAT WAS THAT SHERLOCK HOLMES?!” Harry came back into the room, furiously glaring at his lover.

John raised his hands as if to say ‘hey-I-wasn’t-the-one-who-said-it’ and when Sherlock looked to him for help he said: “You’re on your own, mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8,835 words, 27 pages at size 11 font, was this acceptable?
> 
> Before I get asked this, regarding Sherlock's lack of magic usage, when he's on a case, I'm not going to have Sherlock use a lot of magic. I think that he would rather solve a crime with his intellect rather than his magic, just to keep him entertained. That doesn't mean that he won't use magic. It just won't be as frequent as John and Harry.


	4. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is John's professional opinion that there is something incredibly wrong with Harry, and Sherlock is doing nothing to help.  
> Or...  
> In which Sherlock is constantly saying 'NO'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter!!!! There are mentions and implications of Harry and Sherlock having sex when Harry was 14, 15, and 16. AND there are mentions and implications of multiple unknown/forced abortions, and mention of a miscarriage. Makes anyone uncomfortable, the areas are marked with this symbol ~ so you can skip over it. 
> 
> This chapter is short in comparison to the other ones, and I apologize.

John decided that he did not, in any way shape or form, enjoy moving. It wasn’t like he had a lot of stuff to move, a few shrinking spells here, a feather-light charm there and all of his belongings fit into his old Hogwarts trunk. It was the process itself that was so exhausting.

After hours upon hours of sorting through what he wanted to keep, and what he wanted to give away (honestly, where did most of this stuff come from?), shrinking, storing and cleaning, he was finally ready to pocket his shrunken trunk and go to 221B.

Big mistake.

He had taken a cab, too tired to apparate, and Mrs. Hudson had met him at the front door.

“Oh, hello John, dear.” She said sweetly, albeit tiredly.

“Hello Mrs. Hudson. Everything alright?”

The older woman shook her head. “Sadly, no. Harry and Sherlock are having another domestic.”

Oh…that couldn’t be good. “I’ll go see if I can get them to calm down.” John said with a smile. As he started going up the stairs, Mrs. Hudson called out to him: “Oh, I wouldn’t go up there, dear. It’s dangerous when they fight.”

John should have listened.

*

“What do you have against Teddy, Sherlock?!” John heard Harry yell.

“Everything!”

“SHERLOCK! He’s just a baby! He’s  _our_   _son_  now and-”

“HE IS NOT MY SON! STOP MAKING ME PRETEND HE IS!” Something in the room, something glass, exploded. Cautiously, John hurried up the last few steps.

When John had first seen the flat, it had been a mess. This…this was insanity. Papers were lying everywhere, glass shards littered the floor, wood splinters were imbedded in the walls, there were scorch marks on the ceiling, and a chair was on fire.

…A chair…on fire…

Like he said before, insanity.

The only good thing was that Teddy was nowhere to be seen. John assumed that he was tucked away in his nursery, silencing charms protecting him from listening to his parents (as if Sherlock would even  _want_  to be called that) arguing.

Harry’s eyes hardened and John could see the warrior that was hidden inside him. Honestly, he was a little terrified. “Sherlock Holmes,” Harry said in a low, eerily calm voice. “If this has anything to do with Teddy being a werewolf, you need to tell me.  _ **Now**_. In fact, you should have told me when I first brought Teddy home!”

“Oh sweet Merlin!” Sherlock groaned. “This has nothing to do with Theodore being a werewolf!”

“THEN WHAT IS THIS ABOUT SHERLOCK?!” The older wizard didn’t say anything. He was determined to have a staring contest (read: glare at each other until one of them gives up) with Harry.

“Are you going to stand there all day, John?” Sherlock asked without breaking eye contact.

John shouldn’t have been surprised. He really shouldn’t have, but when Sherlock’s eyes flicked in his direction and Harry turned around to face him he was completely shocked. He didn’t think that he would ever understand how Sherlock did the things that he did.

“Hello John.” Harry said in a tense voice.

“Umm. Hi Harry. Hello Sherlock. I umm…”

“Oh please John. If you say that you didn’t hear anything I will hex you. You’ve been standing in the doorway for at least five minutes.” John’s face flushed. He had been caught staring since he had gotten up the stairs and it made him feel extremely awkward about himself. Like he was a mix between a voyeur and a kid who’s hand was caught in the cookie jar. Awkward.

“John, can you go downstairs or to your room while Sherlock and I finish up?” Harry asked.

“Now  _dear_ , John is a grown wizard. I’m sure he’s seen couples fight before. Stay, John.”

“The only reason you want him to stay is because you know that I won’t argue with you in front of him.” Harry glared accusingly at his lover.

Sherlock mumbled something along the lines of them crossing the argument/mortal combat line once wands were drawn which earned him another glare. “All the more reason for John to stay.”

“SHERLOCK! We are not putting this off again because you don’t want to talk about it!”

John shifted uncomfortably. “I can go…”

“Please, John. We won’t be long.”

“Don’t worry, John. I’ll save you the trouble.” They spoke at the same time, but when they finished speaking, Sherlock apparated out of the flat. Harry stood there looking so angry and hurt that John had to restrain himself from running over to him and comforting him.

Big, watery green eyes turned to John and Harry asked him in a broken voice: “Why? Why does he hate Teddy? Why, John?” That was the breaking point. John rushed over and wrapped an arm around the young wizard’s shoulder as he silently wept.

Harry dropped his wand, it made a small clunking noise as it hit the floor, and pressed his hands to his eyes. Briefly John’s eyes went to the fallen wand and it wouldn’t be until later, when he would be alone in his room that he would contemplate the four small notches that went around the handle.

*

Harry stayed up in his room all day. No matter how long John or Mrs. Hudson stayed outside the door, asking him to come out and eat, he stayed inside. Eventually, they gave up. Mrs. Hudson made him tea and a bowl of soup (‘Because Harry’s locked away, dear. So, just this once. I’m not your housekeeper!”) for an early dinner.

Now, hours later, John was sprawled out on his bed typing away on his laptop. He wasn’t typing anything important, just writing a few poems to pass the time.

Honestly? He was completely bored. So he stopped and thought about everything that had happened during the day. Moving, Sherlock and Harry’s fight, Sherlock leaving, Harry crying. It had been an emotionally taxing day.

Notches.

It was so utterly random that it made John freeze. He remembered seeing the notches on Harry’s wand and, though he had pushed them to the back of his mind, he had been curious. The notches weren’t simple scratches that come from being dropped or constant use. They were deliberate. Deep enough to differentiate them from the other scratches, shallow enough to stay away from the core.

What did they mean though?

“He tends to forget that I notice everything, John.”

John jumped, nearly falling off the side of his bed. “OH SWEET MERLIN! SHERLOCK!” In the corner of his room, Sherlock stood. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed at his chest and head looking up at the ceiling. He looked…tired. He hadn’t been there all day, had he? “Sorry, but what the hell are you doing in here and what are you talking about?”

Sherlock looked at him and glared. “You know exactly what I’m talking about John, don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Still doesn’t answer my first question.” John said under his breath.

Disregarding the comment, the younger wizard crossed the room and laid down next to John on the bed, hands clasped together underneath his head. “Oh sure Sherlock, sit down why don’t you? Make yourself comfortable.”

The sarcasm didn’t phase Sherlock. He rolled his eyes, but never looked anywhere other than the ceiling. “You want to know about the notches, don’t you?” John nodded. How Sherlock could see it, he would never know, but he did and started a very long-and slightly disturbing story.

~ “Harry and I have been together for years. It started with Mycroft working to switch his magical guardian, but it changed into something completely different…” He went on explaining how they had starting having intercourse (with FAR too much detail, in John’s opinion. He wouldn’t be able to look at Harry the same way for a long time) right before Harry started his fourth year at school. “At the time, my judgment had been slightly impaired due to certain recreational drugs I was using, and the sounds that came from the bathroom were just so-”

“-SHERLOCK!!!! _RELEVANCE_?!” John’s face was redder than a tomato. Honestly! Didn’t this man have any dignity?! John did not want to hear about his sexual escapades with a fourteen year old!

“Yes, actually, it is extremely relevant. Oh stop looking at me like that. Fine, I’ll spare you the details. It only happened once; before you delude yourself into thinking that I had somehow turned Harry into my personal sex-slave. Three weeks into the school year I received a letter from Harry that said that he was constantly nauseated. I told him ginger tea and crackers should fix that. One week later, I received another letter that said while the tea and crackers helped, he was still nauseated and so what do you think I told him?”

“To go to the infirmary.” John stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He wasn’t a complete idiot, regardless of what the other wizard might have thought.

“Exactly. Two days later he owled me, telling me that the matron gave him a potion and that he was better within hours.” John frowned. “Ah, so you’ve caught on.”

“Legally, she shouldn’t have been allowed to give Harry anything unless you, his magical guardian, allowed her to. Did you fill out the paperwork?” Sherlock shook his head ‘no’. “The she should have contacted you before she gave him anything.”

“But she didn’t. Mycroft and I looked into it and we found out that she was under a very heavy memory charm. She didn’t even remember Harry coming in to see her.” Sherlock went on with the story, explaining that-at first, because Sherlock Holmes _always_ solves his cases- they couldn’t find what potion had been given to Harry and the only thing Harry remembered was that the potion made him want to throw up…but a lot of potions did that. Add onto that the fact that Harry hates every potion and it gets more complicated.

And then Sherlock went back to talking about sex. Really?! John did not want to hear about this! Granted, Sherlock did not go into as much detail as he did before, but he john the amount of times they had sex after Harry’s fifteenth birthday and the various…places. Why- _WHY_ was this important?!

Then Sherlock said something that made ‘Dr. John Watson’ take over. “He said his _food_ tasted funny?” Perhaps he should have been paying attention.

The taller man shook his head. “ _No_ John, weren’t you listening? I said it was his drink. Honestly John, think about it logically. In a house filled with a dozen people, how do you drug one person’s food without a) drugging all of the food, or b) pre-serving the food so it’s already on said person’s plate?”

“So how did his drink get drugged? Wasn’t it just an empty cup sitting at the table?” Sherlock groaned, muttering: ‘muggleborns.’

“ _No_ , John, it wasn’t just an empty glass at the table. There was a house-elf in charge of the drinks. And the house elf was obviously under orders.”

“So the house elf drugged Harry’s drink…did you get samples?”

John watched as Sherlock tugged at his hair, groaning. “No! The morons banished his cup and got him a new one before I could do anything! But one sip was enough, apparently.”

“So, what, every time he took the potion he put a notch on his wand? That makes no sense.”

“It makes no sense because that is an idiotic suggestion. No he did not put a notch on his wand because of the potion. He was only administered the potion once more.”

That didn’t make sense. “But there were four notches.”

“Exactly.” Sherlock told him that the third notch came from an incident that happened right after the Yule break in Harry’s fifth year. It was potions class. The fumes were toxic to him in his condition and he passed out. By the time he had been taken to the infirmary, the damage had been done. “That school was filled with incompetent idiots!” There was something about Sherlock’s tone, not quite painful, but not his usual tone of arrogance or boredom either.

John was about to ask if the notches were all correlated with potions incidents when he-unfortunately-remembered Sherlock’s descriptions of his sexual encounters with Harry. The nausea, the potion fumes, the potion that made the nausea stop after a few hours…”Oh sweet Merlin, you mean...?” He breathed, realizing with no small amount of horror what those four tiny notches meant.

The other man nodded, silently confirming John’s fears. “Severus Snape was one of the few people that Mycroft called friend. During the potions incident, he performed the procedural medical scan. Harry was almost three weeks pregnant with _my_ child John. Severus told Mycroft, who later told me-and I must say, my brother was absolutely delighted to slander the dear headmaster’s name, but that’s a wonderful story for another day-and less than I day later I received a letter from Harry. He didn’t tell me about the baby, just said that he was in an accident, but he was fine. 

John had yet to see Sherlock get so…emotional about anything. He claimed to be a sociopath, and John could definitely see that, but he could also see that the man genuinely cared for Harry and their lost children. The med-wizard wonder what must have been running through Sherlock’s head when Harry didn’t tell him about the child.

For almost an hour they talked. Sherlock explained that had found the potion-Dumbledore had been behind it, unsurprisingly-and Mycroft had gotten almost eight three percent of the Ministry against Dumbledore. Harry had never outright told Sherlock that he was ever pregnant, but the final time that it happened, Sherlock had just _known_. “Spells, charms, special potions, and it was all ruined because of his dim-witted Weasley friend!” He shouted angrily. John wondered if there was a silencing charm around his room. He wasn’t sure how Harry would react to overhearing them. ~

Actually, now that he thought about it, they probably shouldn’t be having this conversation at all!

“It’s too late to go back now, John. If you were uncomfortable having this conversation you would have stopped me before.” How did he…? “Oh please, your face says it all.” Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.

Clearing his throat, John shifted on the bed. “Well, regardless, I think we should stop having this conversation.”

Though he obviously didn’t agree, Sherlock nodded nonetheless and stood up. “Very well John. Good night. Oh, and I trust our conversation will remain between us.” There was a small nod of acknowledgement, even though they both understood that neither party would say anything about their conversation.

Just moments before Sherlock’s hand touched the doorknob, John spoke up. “Sherlock, why do you hate Teddy? I mean this is your chance to finally have a family. A family with _Harry_.” The wizard froze for no more than a second. John was disappointed to watch him leave the room like he had not even heard the question.

John would not be able to sleep that night.

The next morning, John would walk into the kitchen with dark purple circles under his eyes. Harry’s back would be to him as he cooked breakfast at the stove. He sits near Teddy-the baby happily sucking on a dummy in his swing as he watches his father’s back-and say his good mornings to him and to Harry. Teddy will look at him and his hair will flicker to the same sandy shade of blonde as John, but his eyes will remain bright green.

Harry would turn around and the food will be forgotten. He will fret over John, asking if he’s alright and if he needs anything but John will only smile and tell him: ‘no thank you, Harry. I’m fine.’ in a tired voice. Harry won’t believe him, but won’t pressure him either. He will take the seat next to John and they will sit in silence. John wants to wrap him in another hug (purely platonic), tell him he’s so-so sorry and that everything will be alright, even if he doesn’t believe his own words. He doesn’t.

Sherlock will rush into the kitchen-hair and clothes from yesterday in disarray after spending the night on the couch-shortly after because whatever was on the stove has burned. He will banish it with a flick of his wrist. He will bitch and moan about the loss of good food and John and Harry will laugh at him, even thought Harry’s laugh is obviously strained.

Teddy will see Sherlock and his hair goes black. The baby’s eyes turn the same blue/gray as Sherlock's and he will wiggle and fuss for the man to pick him up. Sherlock doesn’t, but for the first time he walks over and smoothes his hand over soft hair.

It’s not perfect, in fact it’s completely awkward because Sherlock doesn’t know if he’s applying too much pressure, but it’s a start.


	5. The Blind Banker I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a whole, I'm not too pleased with this chapter.

Days after the ‘incident’-as Sherlock liked to call it, because that’s what it was-221B had found its new normal. After Sherlock’s brief interaction with Teddy, he had initiated anymore physical contact (it was _not_ because he was nervous about touching the baby! Whatever Harry or John may say, it’s all _lies_! And for your information, Sherlock did hold the baby at one point…but no one was supposed to know about that.) but he did his thinking near the baby and even had a conversation or two with him-John and Harry were both busy and Mrs. Hudson hid his skull _again_. Harry, though apprehensive, was pleased with his lover’s behavioral change. The young wizard had questioned John, asking if he had said something to Sherlock, but the med-wizard replied with: “No, perhaps he merely had a change of heart?”

And that was the end of that.

*

That morning, John had agreed to buy groceries. Why? Because Harry’s friends Fred and George had flooed over that morning exclaiming-rather loudly in both Sherlock and Teddy’s opinions if the whining and the screaming meant anything-that they had _finally_ managed to impregnate Draco. They begged Harry to come and see Draco, because though the Slytherin was still asleep, he would love to see his friend. Harry almost said no because he needed to do the shopping but dear John Watson stepped in for him. (“Here, why don’t you leave Teddy with us? I think between Sherlock and myself we can keep him entertained.” “Don’t be stupid John, you can’t entertain a sleeping infant.” “Well, if you two are sure…” “Absolutely! Go have fun! Catch up with your friends, in fact, invite them for dinner!” “Oh dear Harry, I think John’s broken into the fire-whiskey.” “Shut up.”)

And you know, this all would have been fine if the bloody machine had just accepted his card!

Ten minutes. Ten bloody minutes of re-scanning his card, starting the entire order over and re-scanning all of the food and yelling at the machine, only to have the same damn problems! What the hell?!

Angry and frustrated, John left the food at the check-out counter, walked until he found an empty alley, and apparated back to the flat.

Sherlock was still sitting in his chair reading a potions book when John had gotten home. Neither said hello to the other (John was still too pissed off at that machine to be nice) but the younger wizard did give him his own…Sherlock-y greeting.

“You took your time.” He said without looking up from his book.

“Yeah, I didn’t get the shopping.”

“What? Why not?” That was interesting. What on earth could have possibly happened?

“Because I had a row…in the shop…with a chipping-pin* machine.” John said. He was clearly frustrated, but forced himself to keep his voice down in case he woke the sleeping baby.

Sherlock almost laughed at the ridiculousness. Almost. He kept his face neutral and repeated what he had just been told.

“Well, sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse-have you got cash?” Holding back a smirk, Sherlock motioned to the other side of the room.

“Take my card.”

John nodded. Half way to the other side of the room, John stopped and turned around. “You know, you could always go yourself. I don’t see why you always make Harry do the shopping. I know I offered, but you’ve been sitting there all morning, you haven’t even moved since I left. And what happened about that case you were offered. The diamond one?”

“Not interested.” Sherlock snapped his book closed. He used his foot to push a discarded sword beneath his seat. “I sent them a message.”

Rolling his eyes, John walked over to the table to get Sherlock’s card. It was then that he noticed an odd scratch. He rubbed at it, trying to figure out what had happened because he knew that there was no scratch this morning. He sighed, picked up the other man’s card and walked out, pausing to briefly look at the green dummy that was on the floor several feet away from its owner (he was absolutely certain that Teddy had been sucking on it when he had first left). He should have asked what the hell had happened while he was away, but honestly, he just wanted to get the damn shopping over with.

It was only after he heard the door slam shut downstairs did Sherlock allow a chuckle to escape his lips. He looked at the sleeping baby and said: “Well, it looks like we weren’t the only ones who had an eventful morning.”

*

_Sherlock fought the man (hand to sword, tedious, but he didn’t want to listen to Mycroft whine about the paperwork if he used magic around the muggle) who had entered his home, keeping him as far away from the sleeping baby as possible. Which honestly wasn’t that hard. Though the muggle possessed_ some _skill with a blade, he was clearly no expert._

_Oh dear…there was a tear in his blazer. He had better fix that before John-or Merlin forbid_ Harry _-found out._

_He fell back onto his chair and used his legs to give the man a particularly hard push, sending him back and into a pile of something that none of the three men had bothered cleaning up._

_Teddy shifted in his seat. He let out the telltale sniffle that meant Teddy was about 15.6 seconds away from wailing._

_“Hush, child. We’re almost done.”_

_The other man imbedded his blade into the table. Now, how was Sherlock going to explain_ that _? After a few well-placed punches, Sherlock had the man incapacitated (not dead, because he would never hear the end of it from either John or Harry if he killed someone in the flat, let alone with Teddy sleeping only a few short feet away.), bound and shoved out the window awaiting one of Mycroft’s manservants to pick him up. He left the fallen sword on the ground, planning to pick it up after._

_Teddy wiggled and let out a high pitched whine._

_“Why couldn’t John have taken you with him? He would have been better at this.” Sherlock whispered. He walked to the baby’s swing, unhooked Teddy, and picked him up (the dummy that had barely been in his mouth toppled to the floor, forgotten), holding him at arm’s length. Teddy opened his green eyes-now shifting to Sherlock’s blue-and his lower lip trembled. Blonde hair shifted to black. “Look at you…” He said softly. Teddy whimpered again, but it was far quieter than before. “Come on then, don’t cry.” He pulled the baby to his chest and maneuvered his hands into a comfortable position for the both of them (he was_ not _uncertain about where to put his hands. Don’t be ridiculous! Teddy just kept squirming, that’s all)._

_Mimicking a move that he had seen Harry do time and time again, Sherlock bounced the baby in his arms and slowly walked about in a circle. “Don’t worry Theodore, I got rid of that idiot. There now. Quiet down. That’s it, go back to sleep.” When the blue eyes slipped closed, Sherlock placed the baby back in the swing in exactly the same position that he had been in before._

_There, now that that was finished…with a flick of his wrist the tear in his blazer knitted itself together. Now to fix the table-Oh. John was back. And if the slamming of the door was any indication, the other wizard was in a foul mood. Sighing, Sherlock grabbed the book that he had been reading earlier and hopped into his seat, pretending that he had been in that spot the entire time that John had been out._

_*_

John, while not having any real issues with the bags, was a bit pissed that Sherlock didn’t offer to help (though, really, should he have been surprised?). “Oh no, that’s okay, don’t worry about me. I can manage.” He said sarcastically. He brought the bags into the kitchen and spelled the food to go to their rightful spots. He was too aggravated to put them away by hand. Who knows what could have happened. He could have spilled that milk, and then he would have had to go back to the store and that was something he did _not_ want to do any time soon.

Walking into the other room, John noticed that Teddy was now awake, staring at him with big blue-green eyes. The wizard smiled and picked that baby up. “Hello, Pup.” He had heard Harry use the nickname before and he found it was both fitting and adorable. “Did you sleep well?” He grinned when the baby’s hair lightened to his blond. The eyes stayed the same. “Oh you know you’re Uncle John! Sherlock he-is that my computer?”

“Of course.” It was obviously John’s. Sherlock’s computer was a different color and all the way in his bedroom.

“What?”

Sherlock started typing a reply to his email. “Mine was in the bedroom.”

“What, you couldn’t be bothered to get up? Or summon it?” Teddy let out a soft whine. John lifted the baby up to his face, pressed light kiss to his hair, and apologized. Happy enough, Teddy reached up and started grabbing at John’s face (well, it was more like scratching at the same spot on John’s cheek). “It’s password protected.” John said to Sherlock. Absently, he used on hand to pry the tinier one away from his face. Teddy found his fingers far more fascinating anyway.

“In a manner of speaking-took me less than a minute to guess yours. Not exactly Fort Knox.”

“Yes alright, thank you.” In a completely non-childish way, John walked over to the desk that Sherlock was at, used the hand that Teddy had been playing with (and the boy was not happy that his playing had been taken away) to slam his laptop closed, pick it up and place is near John’s chair. He sat down in said chair, placing Teddy in his lap so he could hold the baby with one hand and let the baby play with his hand, and went through the bills.

Sherlock, as usual, was thinking.

“I need to get a job.” John said after seeing far too many bills for his liking.

“No you don’t. That’s dull-and Harry and I have more than enough for the bills.”

“I live here too, you know. I need to pay for something.” He sighed. “Listen, Sherlock if you’d-”

Sherlock stood up. “-I need to go to the bank.” He summoned his coat and scarf and put them on. “Well?” He said when John had made no move to get up.

“I can’t go with you, Mrs. Hudson is out and we’re in charge of Teddy.”

“So? Bring him with us.” Sherlock was once again using his ‘it-rather-obvious-so-don’t-be-stupid-John’ tone. With a sigh, Sherlock summoned a baby carrier. “Here, strap this to your chest and put Theodore in it.”

John eyed the red and gold…thing wearily. “Don’t you have a pram or something?” He did not want to walk around with Teddy strapped to his chest in _that_. First of all, it hardly looked like it could support the baby-what if it came undone and Teddy fell?! Secondly…those colors! He got Gryffindor pride and all, but this was ridiculous.

“Ah, well, the pram has met an untimely end that I may or may not have had something do with. And don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. Dozens of protective charms woven in the stitching. High quality. A gift from the Weasley twins, hence the colors. Now hurry up John.”

*

They took the tube to the bank (because John didn’t trust himself to apparate with Teddy) and that was an experience that John did not want to repeat. Teddy had been bundled in a navy blue coat and hat, and some dark boots that Sherlock had gotten from the room. Just too be safe, John wrapped a very fluffy-very warm blanket around him. John carried a diaper bag on one shoulder and he honestly thought that he looked ridiculous. Sherlock placed a spell on Teddy (“So no one can see his features changing colors John”) before they left the flat. John wondered what color eyes and hair muggles would see.

Throughout the whole ride, they had received knowing looks, kind looks, disgusted looks…hell when they got off at their stop, and elderly woman told them that their son was absolutely adorable. John had flushed, spluttered, and tried to tell her that Teddy wasn’t his son, but Sherlock’s, and that they weren’t together (because John was not gay! Nope, why couldn’t people see that?) but Sherlock wrapped an arm around his shoulder, thanked the woman and pulled John away. John wasted no time in slipping out of his hold.

“You’re a bastard, do you know that?”

“Language, John. What would Harry say if he heard you swearing around Theodore?”

John didn’t have an answer to that. “Well…you didn’t have to play along.”

Sherlock smirked.

*

The bank was high-tech and completely sterile looking. Apparently, they were there because Sherlock’s old friend (?) needed help.

“This is my friend, Dr. John Watson.”

“Friend?” The man said, a surprised grin etched on his face. He eyed the baby. A dark eyebrow raised.

John was having none of this. He was too aggravated with Sherlock to be ‘friends’ at the moment. “Colleague.” They shook hands anyway. It was polite, after all.

The man didn’t ask about Teddy, not even what his name was, and for some reason, John was annoyed by that.

Sherlock’s friend walked to the other side of his desk and sat down, asking if they needed anything but both men declined. The two wizards occupied the seats on their side of the desk. John pulled off Teddy’s blanket and tucked it into the bag. The baby looked up at him and reached up to grab his face again. John mumbled something to him about leaving his poor face alone, but he let the baby play with his fingers. 

“So, you’re doing well. You’ve been abroad a lot.” And then it started. Sherlock said something about the man going around the world, but the man took it all in stride (apparently, they went to Uni together. Why did Sherlock even go to Uni after graduating from Hogwarts?). The man, while amusing, was also quite rude. When Sherlock lied about talking to the secretary, John felt a little (only a little) bad for almost laughing along with the other man.

Sebastian (because that was the name of Sherlock’s kind-of-sort-of-friend) brought the two wizards to another floor with a bunch of offices. He explained that someone had broken in in the middle of the night and, while not taking anything, left a message.

It strange yellow symbols that had been spray-painted onto the wall and a portrait. Sebastian showed them the security footage, the burglar (John wondered if he should call the person a burglar if no burglaring had taken place) had done the painting in exactly one minute, without being seen.

The invader had not only done all this, but had gotten into the building in an obscure-unknown way. Every single door (yes, even the ones to the toilets) had some fancy security locks, meaning that there was no possible way for the invader to use them without someone knowing. Sherlock’s job was to find out how the invader had gotten in.

John nearly had a heart attack when Sherlock tried to turn down the ‘incentive’ check.

“He’s just joking, obviously, should I…I’ll just look after that for him.” Sebastian handed him the check and John pocketed it (five thousand pounds, and Sherlock was going to throw it away?!).

*

Sherlock spent almost an hour investigating. He took photos, went in and out onto the balcony, and spent a good portion of his time wandering about looking for something and-Oh! There it was! He took the nametag and nodded slightly. This was the recipient of the message. Now to find John…

The med-wizard was in the middle of changing Teddy’s nappy when Sherlock found him. John had neither the skill nor the speed that Harry possessed, but he did manage to get the job done (and even if the nappy was a little too loose, Sherlock had to begrudgingly admit that it was better than he could do). “Ready, John?”

“In a minute, let me put him back in the carrier.”

With Teddy safely strapped onto John’s chest (because, yes, the carrier was rather safe, even if it didn’t look it) and John’s hand supporting his bottom, the two men left. “So, around the world twice in a month…you didn’t talk to his secretary. You said that just to irritate him.” John watched as Sherlock smirked. “How did you know?”

“Did you see his watch? The time was right but the date was wrong.” Sherlock explained that the watch was two days behind, meaning Sebastian had crossed the dateline twice but forgot to alter it. When John asked, Sherlock went about explain how he knew that it had been within the month.

“So are we going to poke around here for a bit longer?”

“No, I have everything I need thanks. The graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and-”

“-That’ll lead us to the person who sent it.”

“Obviously.”

“Well…there’s three hundred people up there. Who do you think it was meant for?” John looked down at Teddy. The baby was playing with the zipper of his coat with the fascination that only a baby could have. Smiling, John brushed some blue-ish black -for the moment-fringe out of his eyes.

“Pillars.”

“What?”

“The pillars and the screens, there are very few places where you could see the graffiti from-that narrows the field considerably. Then there’s the fact that the message was left at eleven thirty four last night. That tells us a lot.”

“Does it?”

“Traders come to work at odd hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night-That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight. Not many Van Coons in the phone book. And-Taxi!”

Oh great. Now they were going to take a taxi.

*

Sherlock had the man’s address (which, at this point did not surprise John) and after a very quiet trip they made it. John spent the entire trip clutching Teddy to him and feeding him a bottle. He was honestly surprised that the driver hadn’t said anything.

What happened next made John wish that he had stayed at home with Teddy…

It started with Sherlock pretending to be Van Coon. He talked with the woman who lived in the flat above (“Just moved in, she wouldn’t know any of her neighbors yet, John.”) and she buzzed them in. Sherlock used the woman’s balcony to climb down to Van Coon’s flat. John stood outside the door, waiting for Sherlock to open it. When it didn’t happen, he called out to the man, concerned that something might have happened.

Sherlock didn’t reply. He kept looking for something that would lead him to…Oh look, he found Van Coon. The man was flat on his bed, dead. There was a bullet hole on the right side of his head.

Interesting

*

John called the authorities once Sherlock let him into the flat. They came and did their work while John and Sherlock did theirs.

“Do you think he lost a lot of money?” John asked from his place at the door. Teddy was still strapped to his chest and he refused to go into the room with the baby. “Suicide is pretty common among city boys.”

“We don’t know that it was suicide.” Sherlock walked off to continue investigating.

“Oh come on, _you_ had to climb down the balcony to get in.” Apparently, Sherlock chose to ignore that comment.

“He’d been away…one-two-three days judging by the laundry. John come look at the case, there was something tightly packed inside it.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m not going to rifle through some dead bloke’s dirty underwear. Plus, I’m not going in there with Teddy.” Knowing that he would not get his friend into the room, Sherlock went to the bed to examine the body. “The graffiti at the bank, it was some sort of code?”

“Obviously.  Why would they paint it? In order to communicate. But why not use email?”

“Well, maybe he wasn’t answering.”

Check the man’s coat…”Oh good, you follow.”

“Umm, nope.”

…Hands. “What kind of message would everyone try to avoid? What about this morning? Those letters you were looking at?” Mouth…Oh… _there you are._

What did that have to do with the case? “Bills.” Sherlock pulled something out of Van Coon’s mouth, bagged it, and brought it to John to look at.

“Yes he was being threatened.”

Any further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of lieutenant-sorry, _Detective Inspector_ -Dimmock.

“I know who you are.” Dimmock said. He didn’t shake the hand that Sherlock had offered. “And I would prefer it if you didn’t tamper with the evidence.” Sherlock was both impressed and annoyed at the muggle. John hid a smirk by pressing his face into Teddy’s hat. The younger wizard handed the evidence bag over.

“I phoned Lestrade…is he on his way?”

“He’s busy. I’m in charge.”

The three men walked into another room, Dimmock telling someone that they were dealing with a suicide.

John agreed. “That does seem to be the only explanation given all of the facts.” He was just glad to get Teddy out of that room.

“Wrong-it is one _possible_ explanation of _some_ of the facts. You’ve got a solution that you like but you’re choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn’t comply with it.” John shifted, getting ready for the inevitable.

“Like?” Dimmock asked. Why- _why_ would he encourage Sherlock?

“The wound was on the right side of his head.”

“And?”

“Van Coon was left handed.” Sherlock made over exaggerated gestures to get his point across that it would be hard for a left handed man to shoot himself on the right side of his head.

“ _Left_ handed?”

“Oh, amazing you didn’t notice. All you have to do is look around this flat-coffee table on the left-hand side. Coffee mug, handle pointing to the left-power sockets, he used the ones on the left-pen and paper on the left hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took messages with his left.  Do you want me to go on?”

“No, I think you’ve covered it.” John answered for Dimmock.

“Oh I might as well I’m almost at the bottom of the list. There’s a knife on the bread board with butter on the right side of the blade-because he used his left-it’s highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself on the right side of his head. Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him-only explanation in correlation with _all_ of the facts.”

“But the gun was-”

“-He was waiting for the killer. He’d been threatened.” Sherlock walked off to put on his coat and scarf.

“What?”

“Today at the bank, there was a warning.” John explained.

Scarf on, Sherlock continued. “He fired a shot when the killer came in.”

“And the bullet?”

“Went through the open window.”

“Oh come on, what are the chances of _that_?” Rolling his eyes, John silently wished that Dimmock would just stop encouraging Sherlock. But surprisingly, Sherlock didn’t respond to that comment.

“We need to get a ballistics report. I guarantee that the bullet in his brain is not from that gun.”

“But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?”

“Good, you finally starting to ask the right questions.” And then Sherlock left, not bothering to wait for John because he knew that the older wizard would be moments behind him.

And he was.

*

They tracked Sebastian down at a restaurant having a ‘business meeting’. John was ninety-nine percent sure that that was just an excuse to not talk to Sherlock. When they explained the situation to the man, he agreed to talk to them in the bathroom (because a public restroom offers so much privacy). While they were in there, John took the opportunity to change Teddy’s nappy.

Sebastian told them everything that he knew about Van Coon. Where he graduated, how he worked, and that, yes in this line of business people do tend to make enemies. Did Sebastian know who killed him? No.

Sebastian was in agreement with the police. It was a suicide and he didn’t want Sherlock to make the mess any bigger than it was.

John’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and almost winced at the caller I.D.

**_Harry P._ **

“Here you answer it.” He said, handing the phone to the other wizard. He was absolutely, one hundred percent _not_ scared to answer. Don’t be ridiculous! Harry was probably calling telling them to come home for dinner-yes that’s it. It’s just _too bad_ that he had to finish taking care of Teddy or else he would answer it himself. Definitely.

“I’m not answering that.”

“Yes, you are. It’s _your_ fiancé.”

“It’s _your_ phone.”

“Well…I’m taking care of _your_ son.” With a growl, Sherlock snatched the phone out of John’s hand and answered-making sure to put on speaker phone because was _not_ going to be the only one who got yelled at.

“Ah, hello darling. How was Draco?”

“ ** _Sherlock Holmes. You and John better get your arses home in the next five minutes or so help me I will hunt you both down and drag you home by your ears!_** ” Harry sounded far less angry than Sherlock had thought that he would be…that was never a good thing.

“Well, love, we’re a bit far so five minutes is-”

“ ** _Four minutes and thirty six seconds-thirty five-thirty four…_** ”

Sherlock hung up the phone, threw it into John’s pocket, and dragged the man out of the bathroom. “Hurry up John! He doesn’t kid about this!” His lover had been trained by Molly Weasley, the single most terrifying being on the planet, after all.

John allowed himself to be dragged outside, and he didn’t even put up a fight when Sherlock apparated the three of them into the kitchen of 221B.

There was food on the stove, and the tabled was set for six. Oh that was right, they were having company over. John had completely forgotten with everything that had happened throughout the day. From where they stood, John could see three men sitting on the couch. Two were the redheaded Weasley twins from that morning and the third was a platinum blond that kind of reminded the wizard of Sherlock. The redheads were grinning at them-they even sent them not so subtle thumbs up. The blond was scowling.

A throat was cleared from behind him. Both John and Sherlock turned to meet angry green eyes. Harry was standing a few feet away, arms crossed and looking absolutely _livid_. John idly wondered if this was what Harry had looked like when he was in battle.

Next to him, Sherlock gulped, but his face remained devoid of fear or apprehension.

“Lestrade called me.” For the second time today, John winced. “Do you know what he told me?”

“That you are a charming-kind-merciful young man and you wouldn’t dare start a fight with Theodore in the room?” Sherlock replied rather sarcastically, though there was an almost undetectable trace of fear. The twins-or at least, John thought it was the twins-tried and failed to stifle their giggles. John heard a whispered ‘stop it’, but they didn’t listen.

Harry looked like he was ready to murder his lover. “You brought our son to a _crime_ _scene_ , Sherlock! There was a dead body in the same room as Teddy!”

“To be fair, John had him at a safe distance at the door with several protective spells around them. Theodore was perfectly safe from contaminants.”

“Don’t bring me into this.” John mumbled. He had thought he had been quiet but Harry, it seemed, had super-hearing at the moment.

“You!” One of Harry’s fingers viciously poked at his shoulder. “You were supposed to be the responsible one! How could you possibly think that it was okay to bring Teddy to a crime scene!?”

Sherlock interjected before John could speak. “It wasn’t a crime scene until after we got there-don’t give me that look. I didn’t kill the man. He was already dead and-sweet Merlin at least let me finish before you start yelling at me again! He was already dead and John and Teddy weren’t even in the flat when I found the body. I wasn’t even certain that there would be a body.”

“But you had assumed didn’t you?!” Sherlock stayed quiet. “Damn it Sherlock, if you had the slightest notion that there’d be a corpse why would you bring our son anywhere near it?!”

“Bonding experience?”

The room goes quiet. Harry, John and the blond man stare at Sherlock like’s he’d grown a second head. The silence was broken by the twins bursting out laughing. The green eyed wizard threw his hands in the air and walked away (presumably going to his room) muttering about irresponsible wizards with a twisted idea of bonding.

The twins got off of the couch and took the baby out of the carrier. Try as he might, John just couldn’t stop the determined little fu- _buggers_. He sighed, watching as they tore off the tiny hat and coat and tried to coax Teddy to turn his hair orange like theirs.

Teddy’s hair stubbornly stayed the same blond as John’s.

“You know, mates, you’re lucky to be standing right now.” One of the twins-the one not holding Teddy-said.

“Yeah, ever since he got that call he’s been-”

“-Plotting to roast you on a spit-”

“-Or skin you-”

“-Or AK you-”

“-Burn your bodies-”

“-And use your ashes in his garden.” They finished together.

John wasn’t as surprised as he should have been. He _was_ the responsible one (no matter what Sherlock may say) and he had taken Teddy out with them. And though he hadn’t known that they would find a dead body, he still should have expected something strange would happen.

“Well, I for one think that his anger was well-placed.” The blond got up from the couch and snatched Teddy away from the twins. The way he walked and talked was a lot like Sherlock. They almost had the same air of arrogance surrounding them. “Well, Doctor Watson, what do you have to say for yourself?” The blond, now in front of John, glared down his nose at the older wizard. It was almost comical because they were practically the same size, even if the blond was an inch or two taller. But John wisely kept thre comment to himself.

“I…ummm…sorry?”

“You better be.”

“Oh, leave him alone, cousin. (“Cousin?”) Yes, John. My cousin-distantly related-Draco Malfoy.” Well…wasn’t that interesting news? His flat-mate was related to the Malfoys. Fantastic. You learn something new every day.

“Yes, we’re unfortunately related. Though there’s hardly any resemblance.” Draco said.

“Agreed.”

Harry came back and ordered them all to sit at the table because it was time to eat. John, not wanting to anger his friend further, was the first to sit. Harry moved Teddy’s swing closer to the table (in between John chair and Harry’s), took the baby from Draco and gave him a tight hug before placing him in the seat. As if John hadn’t felt bad enough already…

Harry had made a not-so-simple roast disguised as something mundane for dinner. The meat was a very fine cut of beef, paired with some sort of fancy potatoes that you had to sell your soul to get (Draco absolutely _had_ to have them, cravings and all that), with a loaf of fresh bread and a few other types of vegetables that were less fancy than the potatoes but still fancier than John was used to. The expensive food reminded John that he needed to get a job. He felt like he was the only one at the table not used to eating such fine foods. Then the wizard had to wonder, how much money did his flat-mates have?

“Harry, I’m on a case. You know I don’t eat when I’m on a case.” Sherlock whined (yes whined. Merlin, the man could behave like an overgrown baby). He hadn’t moved from the spot that he had been standing in, but his coat and scarf had been removed.

“Then sit down and think Sherlock. No one said you had to eat, but you are going to sit with us.”

“Can’t I just go and-”

“Sit down Sherlock! I’m not asking you to do anything too strenuous! You can go off and play your violin after dinner.”

Grumbling, Sherlock took his seat next to Harry.

“By the way, how did the table get scratched?” John shrugged because he had wondered the same thing. “…Sherlock?”

“Must have happened at breakfast.”

After that, dinner was actually a pleasant affair. Sherlock kept his mouth shut almost the entire time-no matter how bad John felt later, he would openly admit that he enjoyed the reprieve. John got to know Fred and George and Draco better. Fred and George owned their own Joke Shop while Draco apprenticed to be a potions master. But, now he had to put his apprenticeship on hold because of the pregnancy.

“Speaking of which,” The young blond turned to Harry. “There is something that we need to discuss.”

“Can’t we do it here?”

Draco sent a meaningful look in Sherlock’s direction. “Well, I’m not sure it’s wise.”

“Oh just say it cousin.” Sherlock spoke for the first time during dinner.

“Fine. Until my pregnancy is over, I won’t be able to work on a potion for Teddy. I mean, I can work on the theoretical parts, but the experimenting will have to wait.”

“No need, I’ve already started.” Harry’s fork fell to his plate. John almost spat out his drink. Sherlock just raised an unimpressed eyebrow in their direction. “What?”

“Since…since when have you taken such an interest in Teddy?” Harry asked after regain some composure.

Sherlock frowned. “I thought that was what you wanted.”

“No-no-no I did-I _do_ , it’s just…different.”

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, but kept his mouth shut. No matter how many questions the wizard was asked, he stayed stubbornly silent.

It was then that John realized something. Not once that day, or even in the past few days now that he thought about it, had Sherlock denied that Teddy was his son. John could recall the argument that he and Harry had had where he had yelled and claimed that he was not Teddy’s father, and that had been the last time that John had heard it. He knew that Sherlock was taking an interest in the baby because of what John had said to him, he wasn’t _that_ stupid thank you very much, but this…this was progress. _Good_ progress.

“So, Doctor Watson.” Draco cleared his throat. He too had been shocked at his cousin’s admittance. “Are you Harry and Sherlock’s third?”

John and Harry’s faces burned red. John babbled that he was _not_ their third, just their flat-mate.

“I highly doubt that. Harry and my cousin are financially stable enough to afford this flat on their own. What other reason would they have keeping a jobless-OW Harry!”

From across the table, Harry and (surprisingly) Sherlock glared at the pregnant wizard. “John is a very good friend, Draco. He has been nothing but kind and friendly to both Sherlock and myself and he is great with Teddy. I will not have you insulting my friend at my table. Pregnant or not I will send a few hexes your way.” Fred and George clamped a hand on Draco’s knees, making any retort die in the wizard’s throat.

John sent Harry a thankful smile that was returned, albeit stiffer and more tired. The older wizard felt useless. He was doing nothing more than living off of his friend’s generosity. He wasn’t even going to think about being their third, because that was ridiculous…right?

With a new resolve, John decided that he was going to go apply for a job in the morning.

*

When dinner was finished and the dishes off cleaning themselves, Fred George and Draco said goodbye. Draco had an early appointment in the morning with his med-wizard and he needed his beauty sleep. Though, before they left, Harry made Draco apologize to John. Let it be known that a half assed emotionless ‘sorry’ was all John got, and expected to get. Which was all well and good. He really couldn’t have cared less. And Draco had the right idea. John could use some sleep himself. Yes, a nice hot bath and some sleep. That was what he’d do, right after he said goodnight to Teddy and his-

OH SWEET MERLIN NO!

NOT _AGAIN_!

John’s eyes, and sanity, could only take so much! This time, the two were standing; connected at the lips and the hips. Harry’s hands were clenched in Sherlock’s curls to bring him closer while Sherlock’s hands were _in Harry’s pants_ , grabbing at his arse. And you know, John would have been okay with it if they _weren’t grinding each other right in front of him_! Seriously! There are some things that John does not need to see!

The wizard cleared his throat (twice!) but the other two didn’t seem to notice. Well fine, if it was going to be that way…John picked Teddy up from his swing.

“Come on Pup,” He said much louder than was necessary. He smirked at the squeak that came out of Harry’s mouth and the growl that Sherlock made. “You’re daddies are being yucky! Yes they are! You can come with me while they have their yucky-time!” He walked off telling the baby that they would make a magnificent fort in John’s room that no daddies would be allowed in.

Despite his embarrassment, Harry chuckled.

“He’s very good with Theodore. Kept him content all day.”

“I’m sure.” Harry reached up and pressed a chaste kiss to the older man’s lips. “What do you think of Draco’s implication that he’s our third?”

Sherlock stiffened ever so slightly. “I think it’s absurd. What do you think?”

“Well, we’re sharing a flat with a man that we’ve only known for a few weeks, even though we don’t need to and-”

“-You’re the one who said I needed to make friends.”

“I _know_ , Sherlock. The point is Draco told me before they left that he thinks that the reason we rejected everyone else was because our magic was waiting for him.”

“The reason we rejected everyone else was because they were imbeciles.”

Sighing, Harry pressed his face to Sherlock’s chest. “Just…just forget that I said anything.”

They stood there in peace for what felt like hours. How long had it been since the two of them had felt this calm? Before the war ended? Yes that sounded right. Ever since the end of the war there had been tension because of Teddy. It wasn’t the baby’s fault, not at all. Harry thanked whatever deities were out there for sending them John Watson.

“Do you think we need a third?” Sherlock asked.

Again, Harry sighed. “I think that John being here has definitely changed things. And you can’t deny that he’s a great guy.”

“I agree…he is a very decent man, and I wouldn’t be adverse to...invite him into our bed and-”

“Sherlock, I love you, but my dear you can be very thick at times. If we invite him into our bed after tonight what do you think is going to be running through his mind? No, let’s just let things stay the way they are for now. We won’t rush into anything and if we can agree that John’s our third, we’ll talk to him about it and let him set the pace.” Harry pressed his forehead into his lover’s shoulder and then it snapped up. “Is John even interested in men?” He asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated groan. “I believe that he’s interested, he’s just unwilling to admit it.” He explained.

Harry chuckled and went to go wrestle Teddy away from John.

*

The next morning, John went to St. Bart’s, resume-with some major alterations of course-in hand. He met with a woman named Sarah who hired him after a few moments of talking and not-flirting (because that would be entirely improper). But oh, wasn’t she charming! Yes she was a muggle, but she was easy to and easy on the eyes too…

“I said could you pass me a pen?” Was how Sherlock greeted him when he walked back into the flat. The young wizard held out his hand expectantly.

Confusion settled on John’s face. “What? When?”

“About an hour ago.”

John picked up a pen that had been lying on the side-table. “Didn’t notice I had gone out then.” He pen back down. The lazy sod could get it himself. He was a wizard after all. “I went to see about a job at the surgery…” Evidence photos of the graffiti were taped to the mirror above the mantle. Charming. Just what John wanted to see. Sherlock must have put them up after Harry had gone to the Burrow that morning (he had taken Teddy with him, saying that his family had wanted to see him, but John was certain that Harry wasn’t ready to leave the baby in their care yet).

“Oh? How’d it go?”

“Great…she’s great.”

Sherlock arched a dark eyebrow. “Who?” Who was she, and how much of a threat did she pose to Sherlock and Harry getting their third? Whatever Harry might say, he was certain that John was their third and he was determined to get the muggleborn.

“The job.”

“You said she.”

“… _It_.” Sherlock stared at John, and then sighed. He and Harry would have to have a discussion about this woman later. He nudged his head in the direction of the computer. “Have a look.”

Walking to the computer (which was actually Sherlock’s this time), John read the article about the new murder victim. It sounded awfully familiar to Van Coon’s murder. Sherlock, it seemed, agreed with the sentiment.

“Journalist shot dead in his flat, doors locked, windows bolted from the inside-exactly the same as Van Coon.”

“Merlin…so you think-”

“-He’s killed another one.”

Sherlock stood and told John that they needed to leave to go to Scotland Yard.

At least John didn’t have a baby strapped to his chest this time.

*

Dimmock was less than impressed with their sudden arrival. He listened to their argument with an open-mindedness that surprised the med-wizard.

“You can’t seriously believe that Van Coon was just another city suicide.” Sherlock asked. Dimmock sighed. He looked sheepish, his body language telling the wizards that _no_ , he did not think that Van Coon was just another city suicide. “You have seen the ballistics report I suppose?” The detective inspector nodded. “And the shot that killed him, was it fired from his own gun?”

“No.”

“No, so this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel.” John had to hide a smirk when the muggle did not immediately bend to Sherlock’s wishes. The other wizard was beyond annoyed though. Honestly, how could anyone be so thick?! He slammed his hands against the desk, bending down so his face was closer to Dimmock. “I’ve just handed you a murder inquiry. Five minutes in his flat.”

Dimmock caved. After all, it was only five minutes.

*

When John had first seen 221B, the chaotic mess had been the product of an unusual family moving into their new home. This mess was not. Brian Lukis’ home was the mess of a bachelor who had grown comfortable with the clutter. Books and papers and clothes littered the floor and chairs and the table. John was mildly horrified. He knew that he was not the cleanliest of people, but he couldn’t fathom how anyone would be comfortable living with all of this clutter on a day-to-day basis.

Sherlock made his way to the window. He didn’t even bother hiding his smirk when the realization hit. “Four floors up. _That’s_ why they think they’re safe? A little chain across the door-bolted shut and suddenly they’re impregnable. They don’t recon for one second that there’s another way in.” He walked out of the flat, John and Dimmock following soon after.

“I don’t understand…” Dimmock admitted. Honestly, wasn’t completely sure that he followed either.

“We’re dealing with a killer who can climb.”

“Well-wait what are you doing?”

The dark haired man was opening a window. Not just any window, it was the skylight. What on earth did the skylight have to do with anything? “He clings to the wall like an insect. That’s how he got in…”

“What?”

“Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof and dropped in through this skylight.”

“You’re not serious. Like Spiderman?” The second part was both sarcastic and disbelieving at once.

“He scaled six floors of an apartment building-jumped a balcony to kill Van Coon.”

“Oh please-”

“-And of course that’s how he got into the bank-he ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace.” Sherlock got off of the stool he had been standing on. “Have to figure out what connects these two.” He muttered more to himself than anyone. Something that would connect the two…what could it…oh! He bent down and picked up a book that had been at the top of its pile. _Of course_! The book was from the West Kensington Library, Sherlock walked out of the flat, leaving John to say their goodbyes to the Detective Inspector.

In the end, it had been John who had found the graffiti. While Sherlock had been looking inside the books for something specific, John had pulled one off of the shelf and saw something odd. After pulling out book after book John found it.

“Sherlock…” There, spray painted in the same yellow paint, were the two symbols that were currently hanging on their mirror in 221B.

*

Between the two of them they had taken almost a dozen pictures of the ciphers. Sherlock had them printed and pasted with the others in minutes. Together, they stood, analyzing the ciphers and trying to find a connection.

“So, the killer goes to the bank-leaves a threatening cipher at the bank for Van Coon-Van Coon panics, goes to his apartment-locks himself in and hours later he dies.”

“The killer finds Lukis at the library, he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows Lukis will see, Lukis goes home…” John said softly.

“Later that night he dies too.”

“Why do they die Sherlock?”

Sherlock ran his fingers along the yellow paint. “Only the cipher can tell us.”

The floo flared and the two men had only second to back up before Harry all but tumbled out of the fireplace. John, being the closest, reached out and steadied his friend.

“Ah-Thanks, John. I hate floo-ing.” Harry said as he straightened himself out.

“Then why bother with it?” John chuckled. “I mean, couldn’t you have just apparated home?”

“Well-”

“-Isn’t it obvious, John? Theodore is sleeping. Apparating would have caused him discomfort and therefore woken him up.” Sherlock pressed a light ‘welcome-home’ kiss to his lover’s head, twirled one of Teddy’s dark locks between his fingers, and went back to studying the photos.

With a fond roll of his eyes, Harry dragged John out of the room and to the nursery. He placed Teddy in his crib. The baby wiggled at the loss of heat, but eventually settled when he found a comfortable spot.

John stood next to Harry, looking at him curiously as Harry stared at his sleeping son. “You looked like you could have used a break.” Harry said, offering the man a shrug.

They stood there for another few minutes, just watching the gentle rise and fall of Teddy’s chest. It was peaceful. After the hectic day that John had had this was a more than welcome reprieve.

“Look…” Harry started quietly. “I’m not a genius, but neither am I an idiot. I know that you said something to Sherlock, just like I know he said something to you-by the look on your face it was something that he shouldn’t have and I’m almost positive I know what it is. I’m not going to ask about it, and I’m not ready to talk about it either. I just…I wanted to thank you. I know I pitched a fit yesterday-and yes I’m still annoyed that the two of you took our son to an active crime scene-but that was the first time that he willingly spent time alone with Teddy. Whatever you said to him I-thank you. Just, thank you, John Watson.”

The smile that John was bestowed with was-in a word-breathtaking. The sheer gratitude and happiness nearly made him glow. John’s breath caught in his throat (because of the gratitude damn it! It wasn’t because Harry looked stunning-well, he did but- _AHH_! Never mind!). He nodded and managed to speak out a ‘you’re welcome’.

Harry pushed him out the door. “Let’s let Teddy sleep. Come on, Dr. Watson. You are going to help me make something for dinner.”

“Is Sherlock going to eat?”

“Probably not, he’s on a case. But you are more than welcome to try and make him.” Harry and John grinned at each other.

“Has that actually worked for you before?”

“Absolutely not.” They both laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I am American and I was going by the dialogue purely by ear. I'm not sure if that's what the check out machines are called and I apologize if it's wrong.


	6. The Blind Banker II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter. literally and 100% hate it.  
> But, the next chapter will be longer AND it's already started so It should be out...relatively soon.

Harry was having a great morning, despite having a cold. John and Sherlock went out that morning to work on the case (“I swear if you two don’t leave me alone I’ll turn you into the mother hens that you are and serve you for dinner!”), Draco had stopped by to pick up Teddy for Uncle/Nephew bonding time (read: Draco and the twins spoiling Teddy rotten until Harry, John or Sherlock managed to take the baby back), and Neville and Luna stopped by to keep him company and bring him special teas and homemade soups (the soup was appreciated, the tea he could have gone without).

Luna dabbed a cool cloth to his warm forehead. “Your mind is at peace for the first time in a long time Harry. A very kindhearted Nargle chased away the nasty thoughts that have been plaguing you.”

Harry smiled. “That he did Luna; that he did.” She smiled and placed the cloth back into the bowl.

“Well, we are happy for you.” What she meant by that, Harry didn’t ask.

The blonde witch left him to go look at something in the kitchen (probably one of Sherlock’s experiments, so long as she didn’t touch it things would be good. Sherlock would never let it go if someone messed with his experiments a second time) and was replaced by Neville. His friend sat on the bed, hand curled in Harry’s dark hair, and they spent almost an hour talking about everything under the sun. The nostalgia Harry felt, along with Neville’s comforting presence and the warmth of the blankets lulled the sick wizard to sleep.

*

 _“Did you have a nice holiday, Harry?”_ _Neville asked after the other boys had crashed from their sugar rushes._

_Harry nodded. He went on explaining how after a few bumps at the beginning of the holiday, he had met a very nice mane named Sherlock Holmes who took him in and cared for him-in his own way. They went shopping in France, got desserts in Italy, and even went to an American theme park called Disney World with his brother and his brother’s boyfriend-at least he thought that they were dating because they acted like an old married couple. He left out the part where the trip to America was supposed to be a two day business trip for Mycroft that ended up being a two week long, rather awkward, family vacation that was completely Mister Lestrade’s idea (and if Sherlock helped out on a few police investigations while they were away, Neville didn’t need to know)._

_His friend grinned, happy that the dark haired boy had gotten away from his relatives and managed to have a fun summer. “That’s great! Will you tell me more about this guy…Sherlock was it?”_

_Nodding again, Harry patted the spot next to him on his bed. Neville sat. “His name is Sherlock, he’s a wizard who graduated a few years ago- he was a Slytherin and don’t give me that look! He’s a good guy! He’s really smart-he helps the muggle police out a lot on cases. He…”_

*

Harry woke briefly when Sherlock returned home. Neville was gone by then; the spot he was previously in had long since gone cold. Sherlock was in the bedroom only long enough to check Harry’s temperature and ask if John had made it home yet.

“Dunno. Been sleepin’.”

“Alright, go back to sleep.”

*

The next time he awoke, it was to John slamming the door.

“-Me Sherlock, in court, on Tuesday!” Harry rolled off of the bed, curling a blanket tightly around his body, and stumbled into the living room. “Yeah, well you’re welcome to tell your little friend that he’s more than welcome to go and own up at any time.”

“Wha’ ‘appened John?” Harry asked in a nasally voice. John explained that Sherlock had taken him to see an expert for advice (weird right?) And the little punk was spray-painting a wall, and ran off when the police showed up. “He and Sherlock left me there with the paint and now I have to show up in court on Tuesday.”

Harry glared at his partner. “Did he now?” John nodded and started taking off his coat.

“No-no-no!” Sherlock hopped over, pulled up the med-wizard’s coat, and ushered him out the door. “I need you to go down to the station and ask about a list of personal effects that would have been impounded-his diary or something that will tell us where he was.” He too grabbed his coat, which had been handed to him by Harry and walked out the door.

John waved. “Remember to drink your potion,” He said. “and drink lots of fluids and get plenty of rest.” He tried to smile; he really did, but potions…yuck. Sherlock gave him an almost sympathetic look.

*

_“You have to drink all of them.”_

_“Do you see how many there are, Sherlock? There’s no way I can drink all of them.” Indeed, their little counter was full of potions. Some Harry could name, some Harry couldn’t even pronounce. Sherlock said that they were all supposed to help him get better. (To be honest, the teen actually thought that more than half of the potions were for some weird experiment that Sherlock was trying to do on him.)But…he didn’t want Sherlock to get mad at him. So Harry did the smartest thing he could think of, he grabbed a handful of vials and downed their contents. Then he grabbed another handful and downed those._

_“Harry! No!” The older wizard was too late though. Drinking as many potions as fast as he did caused an upset in his stomach and the next thing Harry knew, he was vomiting on their floor._

_“I-I’m sorry! I’ll clean it up I swear!”_

_Sighing, Sherlock ushered Harry to his bedroom and tucked him in. “You will not clean it. You are going to lay in bed and sleep. I’m going to set an alarm, and when it goes off you will take no more than four at a time. Do you understand?”_

_“Yes Sherlock.”_

_“Good. Now sleep.”   The last thing Harry heard before he succumbed to the darkness was Sherlock cursing muggle cleaning products._

_An hour later, Harry awoke to a soft buzzing. He grabbed four potions, drank them, and went back to sleep. Sherlock grinned from the corner of the room._

*

Before the duo separated-John going down Lukis’s trail and Sherlock going down Van Coon’s-Sherlock had said that their paths were going to cross at some point. And he was right (there’s a surprise). It was a small shop called Lucky Cat, very nondescript and easily forgotten if one were to pass it on the street. John took no small amount of pleasure in being the one to figure it out first.

They walked in and were greeted by a woman who tried to sell them Lucky Cats for their wives (“What do you think Sherlock? You think Harry would like one? Just imagine this on your bedside table.” “Shut up John.”) . And it was John who found the cipher/number on the bottom of a teacup (hey, he was getting pretty good at this whole detective thing!). They thanked the woman and left.

As they walked down the street, Sherlock explained that it was an ancient number system. The numbers left at Van Coon’s place were 15 and 1.

The problem was: what did they mean?

Sherlock didn’t notice the woman taking pictures of them, but John did. He didn’t think too much of it though, because she was gone soon after. Perhaps she was just taking a picture of something behind them…

*

“Think about it, Van Coon lost five million but made it back in a week.” That was quite a feat…

“He was a smuggler.” John nodded as he took a bite of his lunch. It made sense, now that he thought about it.

“Businessmen, making frequent trips to Asia, and Lukis as a journalist was writing about China. Both of them smuggled stuff out and Lucky Cat was their drop off.” Sherlock explained. He kept his eyes trained on the store, like it would somehow give him all the answers.

“But why did they die? It doesn’t make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten and kill them after they’ve finished the job?”

“What if one of them is light-fingered? Stole something from the hoard-”

“-And the killer doesn’t know which one did it so he threatens them both.” Yes, things were starting to make much more sense now (except, you know, who was the thief and what it was that they stole).

“Remind me John, when was the last time that it rained?” Sherlock asked as he stared at something across the street.

What?

*

Sherlock brought them to an apartment across the street, belonging to a Soo Lin Yao. He rang the bell, waiting only a moment before rushing off to the back of the building to find another entrance. Now wasn’t that ridiculous. What if the person was on their way?

“No one’s been in that flat for at least three days.” He said as he walked down the alley. John rushed behind him.

“They could have gone on holiday.”

“Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday, John?” Sherlock jumped, pulling the fire escape down, and climbed up to the open window all the while John stood below watching him climb (and he most certainly did NOT look at that bum that was _right there._ Nope.). Wasn’t he the responsible one? Shouldn’t he be telling Sherlock that it’s _bad_ to break into people apartments?

Oh it was too late now, Sherlock was already inside. Damn it.

*

In an annoying sort of way, it was rather clever of Soo Lin to put a vase so close to the window. Should anyone-like himself-try to break in, they would knock the vase from its spot and send it toppling to the floor. The result would be either a crash or a wet spot…

…like the one that was already on the floor.

“Someone’s already been here.” He called to John. “Somebody else has been in the flat and knocked over the vase, just like I did.” He moved about, trying to find evidence of any one being there or the last time that Soo Lin had been there. By the horrid smell of her laundry-the ones left in the washer-, it was definitely a few days.

While he was ‘exploring’ John was ringing the bell, trying to get Sherlock to let him into the flat and-oh god that milk smelled _terrible_!  _Why_ did he think that it would be a good idea to open it?! He was so glad that they went through milk as fast as they did, he would get rid of that refrigerator if he ever found spoiled milk in it (Mrs. Hudson would understand, right?). There were some things a grown wizard can deal with, but spoiled milk is not one of them.

“I’m not the first…”

“What?” Oh sweet Merlin John, it’s rather hard to go unnoticed if he had to yell to the other wizard. Why didn’t he just use _alohamora_ on the lock? It would make this thousands of times easier.

“Someone’s been in here before me!”

“What are you saying?” Honestly?! Why did he even bother? Oh! There was a footprint in the carpet!

“Size…eight feet……small, but…athletic.” He picked up a picture of two small children. There were finger smudges on the glass. Small, but strong…an acrobat. But why didn’t he close the window when he left?

“Oh stupid- _stupid_ , obvious…he’s still here…” And that’s when a rope went around his neck.

Oh…Harry was going to kill him when he found out about this.

*

“Any time you want to come and open the door and include me” He didn’t hear his friend gasping out his name in a cry for help. He would have gone rushing in; unlocking the door with magic (he would do it now, but there were too many muggles around) or perhaps breaking the door, but that might have caused a fuss. Instead he was outside pacing and mocking his friend ‘I’m Sherlock Holmes and I work alone because no one can compete with my massive intellect’.

Unbeknownst to the med-wizard, just as Sherlock was on the brink of passing out, a surge of magic rushed through him, making the dark haired man cough and gasp as he stumbled into an upright position. The killer was gone; he had run off while Sherlock was collapsed on the floor, leaving nothing behind but a folded piece of paper in the shape of a flower in Sherlock’s pocket. Fantastic.

Sherlock stumbled out of the flat. His magic was still surging through him, trying to fix the damage done to his throat, but left his voice raspy. He did his best not to glare at John, not to be angry, but the man was a wizard. He should have been able to find his own way into the flat without causing a scene (like going into the back and apparating in)!

Sherlock rushed through his explanation that Soo Lin had left in a hurry three days before, brushing off the med-wizard’s concern about his health (‘You’ve gone croaky, have you caught Harry’s cold? Perhaps we should head home so you can lie down.’). They needed to go to the National Antiques Museum.

*

The boy-Andy-was incredibly helpful the first time they visited him. He explained that Soo Lin performed a tea ceremony for guests-it was her life, and then he brought John and Sherlock down to the storage area…with the threat painted on a statue not ten feet away from the storage unit, it was no wonder that Soo Lin was scared.

*

John did not like Sherlock’s little friend. Even if he was helpful to the case he was still the reason that John had to go to court on Tuesday (and John tried several times to get the little shit to fess us, but each time he was reprimanded by Sherlock ‘Forget about your court date John!’).Apparently the kid found more ciphers used with the exact same paint as the other three…

Okay, so maybe he was a tad useful.

(He’d be even more useful if he confessed and got John out of court!)

*

They ran to an abandoned (abandoned was probably the wrong word. Less used-for the moment-was probably better) bit of railway. John wasn’t sure what they were looking for, but apparently Sherlock did.

“What are you doing, John?”

“I’m calling Harry.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s at home sick, and I want him to take another potion. And I want to see if he wants us to pick up Teddy on our way back.” If his sister was here she would have laughed at him, saying that he’d gone soft and domestic since moving in with the other two wizards.

 ** _“Hmm…H’lo?”_** Came the sleepy voice on the other end of the line. John frowned as he realized that he had just woken his friend from some much needed rest.

“Hey Harry, how’re you feeling?”

**_“Like I got run over by a hippogriff”_ **

The blond held back a laugh. Sherlock, who could hear the conversation, rolled his eyes. “Has he been taking his potions?”

The med-wizard wanted to retort with ‘Well, how would I know. I’ve been out here with you for hours.’ But Harry beat him to it.

 ** _“Yes Sherlock I’ve been taking your damned potion. I don’t think that there’s any way I couldn’t. You used that annoying buzzing charm to make sure that I wouldn’t forget.”_** There is unmistakable annoyance in his voice that can only mean that it wasn’t the first time that Sherlock had pulled something like this. (The smirk on Sherlock’s face just proved it.)

“John I’m going to look ahead.”

“Fine I’ll go that way.” They separated. “Have you been drinking anything?”

John could _hear_ Harry’s eye roll. **_“Yes_ Mum _. Mrs. Hudson has been pour water, juice, and tea down my throat every five minutes since this morning.”_** Yes, he didn’t doubt that that woman had been doing exactly that. She adored her boys (even if Sherlock got into some questionable activities). **_“Did you need something?”_**

“Oh! Right! Did you want us to get Teddy on our way home?”

**_“Sure, if you don’t mind.”_ **

“Of course not.” He should hang up; let Harry get some more rest so the potions could get to work. He should have, but for some reason he kept the phone pressed tightly against his ear.

**_“What are you guys doing?”_ **

Shrugging (Why? It wasn’t like Harry could see it), John explained what had happened in the last hour. At least Harry had some sympathy for his plight about the court date (‘I’ll take care of it John, if Sherlock hasn’t already.’ Whatever that meant) and even offered some assistance on why they were at the railway.

**_“No one’s going to think twice about graffiti in the middle of some old bit of track.”_ **

True, just like that yellow stuff on that wall that looked a lot like…WAIT! The blond ran over the wall that he had almost walked by. “Oh sweet Merlin. I’ll call you back when we get Teddy, Harry. I have to go.” Harry barely managed to get out a ‘Bye John’ before the call was disconnected.

*

Harry stared at his phone. That was…odd. It left him with a sinking feeling in his gut. Were they alright? Did they run into trouble? Didn’t they go separate ways?

Grabbing the bottle of water that Mrs. Hudson left him, he took a long sip. He should probably get to sleep. John and Sherlock would be pissed if he didn’t. But there would be no more sleeping, not until all his boys were home.

*

John was going to kill whoever painted over the message. Granted, he probably could have banished the top layer of paint if he got creative enough, and _yes_ , he took a picture with his phone but a) he wasn’t sure if there were any muggles hiding around and b) Sherlock wasn’t even letting him speak!

Oh God Sherlock. He was next on John’s ‘To Kill’ list.

“I need you to concentrate, close your eyes”

“What-why?” and why were Sherlock’s hands all over his face? How on earth was that supposed to help him concentrate? Oh lord, now they were spinning. _Why_ were they spinning? “What are you doing?”

“I need to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?”

“Yeah…”

“Are you sure? Can you remember it?”

“Yes! I can!”

“The pattern, how much can you remember? Can you remember all of it?”

“Yes, don’t worry-”

“-Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty two percent accurate.” Sherlock interrupted as if John hadn’t said anything at all. Really! This was just getting ridiculous!

“Don’t worry, I remember all of it.”

Sherlock gave him a look. One that screamed ‘I-don’t-quite-believe-you-and-I-think-you-think-you’re-smarter-than-you-are’. Rude! John broke away and pulled out his phone, looking for the newest photos. “Or I would if I could get to my pockets-there! See? I took a photograph.”

Sherlock didn’t apologize (not that John really expected one) but that look on his face would be something that John would treasure to the end of his days.

*

“We have to pick up Teddy.”

“I know.”

“Of _course_ you do.”

*

“Why should I give him to you?”

The dark haired wizard glared at his cousin. “Well, dearest Draco-”

“-Here’s the little guy! He had lots of fun with his uncles today, didn’t you Teddy-bear? Oh! If he starts sprouting feathers, or purple spots show up on his skin let us know-” Sherlock snatched the baby from George’s grasp-or was it Fred?-, holding him tightly against his chest. When John accepted the bag and the carrier he sent the twins disapproving looks. 

“You _experimented_ on him?” Sherlock hissed-and holy shit this was probably the first time that John had heard Sherlock get this defensive over the babe. It made him think of a mother dragon; powerful and deadly.

“What? No-!”

“-We wouldn’t-!”

“-We aren’t _stupid_ -”

“-Despite what you may think-”

“-We were experimenting in the lab-”

“-Teddy was safe with Draco the whole time-”

“-We swear! There were just some fumes on our clothes-”

“-Honestly, it should be completely harmless.”

“So long as you put some protective charms up, changed your clothes and washed yourselves, I don’t see how it could cause Teddy any harm.” John cut in when it looked like Sherlock was about to explode at the twins. Both redheads shifted. Oh no…they weren’t that stupid…

“Oh, well as long as there are charms being used then we can do whatever we want-including taking an infant to crime scenes.” Ouch. Draco’s barely veiled insult made John duck his head. This man (who was in fact years younger than himself) made him feel like he was being chastised by his mother for turning his sister’s hair pink (in his defense, Harry adored magenta and hadn’t complained until her hair was back to normal).

“Cousin, that particular incident is between Myself, John and Harry and will be staying that way. This, however, is going to be brought up to Harry.”

“I don’t see why-”

“-As a Med-Wizard and muggle doctor John knew precisely which bacterium that we may or may not have been subjected to and had Teddy protected before he even entered the flat. Experimenting with magical items is dangerous in and of itself. But around a werewolf whose senses are already heightened and a baby at that-making him even more sensitive to certain plants and pathogens, where his own magic is unstable enough as is-is downright dangerous. There are some potion ingredients where the fumes can’t be contained by spells you fools! And Merlin forbid there was any magical backlash, Teddy could have been seriously injured!”

“Sherlock-”

“And you! You’re a Potions Master you should know-”

“Sherlock! They get it. It was a mistake and won’t happen again. I’m sure they feel horrid.” Actually, John had hoped that the stuck-up blond felt a bit humiliated after insulting him. Because Sherlock was right, as usual, he was a Potions Master and pregnant or not he should have (at least) made the twins shower and change clothes. “But all your yelling is doing is upsetting Teddy. So why don’t we bring him home, get him to bed and check up on Harry and then work on finishing this case.” The twins looked at him like he had grown a second head, and when Sherlock actually complied it was as if Merlin himself had appeared and announced them as Prank Gods.

Not bothering to put the baby in the carrier, Sherlock apparated home. John stayed long enough to give the triad a polite (though frosty) goodbye.

*

When they got into their flat Harry was nodding off in his chair, wrapped in a giant blanket that John assumed was from his bedroom if Sherlock’s eye twitch was anything to go by.

John put the baby bag and the empty carrier down by the door. Sherlock walked off to put the infant in his crib (and probably a quick scan as well. John would be giving Teddy a more thorough one to be sure he was alright).

“Harry? Are you feeling any better?” Green eyes snapped open. The amount of concern he saw sent John reeling backwards. What on earth?

“John?! Are you okay?! Did anything happen?! Is Sherlock okay?”

“Yes-yes, we’re fine. Is this about the phone call? I didn’t mean for it to end so abruptly, but I needed a picture of the ciphers unless I wanted Sherlock delving into my mind.”

That…actually made sense. And it was far more sensible than any of the other thoughts that had been running through the young wizard’s mind. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Harry sunk back into the chair and placed his hand on John’s upper arm.

“Oh…okay. Good. ‘M glad that you aren’t hurt. You…you kind of scared me.”

“Right, I can see that.” He replied with a grin. “Well since I’ve got a free moment, I’m going to check you over.”

Harry groaned, John laughed.

*

Ten minutes, one check-up resulting in Harry being almost completely better (“You need to get more rest though, for the potion to keep working”), one check-up resulting in Teddy being fine (“I don’t want him going back over there, Harry. Not until they learn to take the proper precautions.” “Don’t worry, love. I will be having a very long conversation with the three of them.”), and one very interesting argument later 221B had been transformed. Photos of the ciphers all marked with their translated numbers hung on the wall alongside Sherlock’s case notes.

While John fought to stay awake at the desk, Sherlock studied the wall. There had to be something he was missing. Yes the ciphers always showed up in pairs…

“Hm?”

“The ciphers, John. They always come in pairs.”

“Mm, yes. Lovely. God I need to sleep.”

“But why did he paint it on the other side of the tracks?”

“No idea.” He fought off another yawn. “Oh, only twenty minutes.”

OH! Of _course_! He was trying to communicate with his people in the Underworld. Whatever was stolen he wants it back. It was so simple! How did he not think of that before? “It’s somewhere here in the code…We can’t crack this without Soo Lin Yao.” He ripped off the photos with the entire message on them, pausing only to toss a few potions at John. “Come on.”

*

Andy was less helpful the second time around.

“Two men who travelled back from China were murdered and the killer left them messages in Hangzhou numbers-”

“-We think that Soo Lin might be in danger. Now that Cipher, it was just the same as the others. He means to kill her as well.”

 “Look I’ve tried everywhere, friends-umm colleagues I don’t know where she’s gone-I mean she could be a thousand miles away.” John almost didn’t notice Sherlock looking at something. When he didn’t turn back around, John got curious.

“What are you looking at?”

“Tell me more about those tea pots.”

“Oh! Uh those pots were her obsession. They need urgent work, if they dry out then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently, you just have to keep making tea in them.”

Sherlock bent, examining the ancient pots. “Yesterday only one of these pots were shining, now there are two…” Perhaps Soo Lin wasn’t quite as far away as he had thought.

*

Several hours later, once the Museum’s employees had gone home, bar the security guard, Soo Lin appeared. Where she came from they weren’t sure, but the duo watched unsurprised as she made her way to the clay tea pots and went to work brewing tea.

Perhaps sending Sherlock out first wasn’t the wisest thing, seeing as how Soo Lin dropped a pot, nearly shattering it. The man caught it.

“Hello.” Sherlock said.

*

“You saw the cipher. Then you know he is coming for me.” Soo Lin said.

“You’ve been clever to avoid him so far.”

“I had to finish…to finish this work. It’s only a matter of time. I know he will find me.”

John pursed his lips. “Who is he? Have you met him before?”

She nodded. “When I was a girl, back in China. I recognize his…signature.”

“The cipher?”

“Yes. Only he would do this. Zhi Zhu.” John repeated the name with no small amount of confusion. 

“The Spider…” Zhi Zhu was the identity of the killer.

Soo Lin took off her shoe, showing the men the tattoo on the heel of her foot. “You know this mark?”

“Yes. It’s the mark of a Tong.” At John’s prompting, Sherlock continued. “Ancient Chinese syndicates based in China.” So Soo Lin was…

“Every foot Soldier bears the mark.”

“You mean you were a smuggler?” John finally asks. She doesn’t nod, but her silence is enough.

“I was fifteen.” She says after a while. “My parents were dead, I had no life ahead, no way of surviving day-to-day. I ended up working for the bosses.”

“Who are they?”

“They are called…the Black Lotus. By the time I was sixteen I was taking thousands of pounds of drugs across the border and into Hong Kong. But I managed to leave that life behind me. I came here, to England and they gave me a job here and everything was good.” She nods, holding off her tears as best as she could. The blond wizard couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She didn’t ask for this. It was just the consequence of a young girl trying to stay alive.

“And then he came looking for you.”

“Yes. I…I had hoped that after five years, they would have forgotten me. But they never really let you leave. In a small community like ours…they’re never really far away.” She didn’t weep, but there were tears slipping down her cheeks. She wiped them away, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “He came to my flat asking for help to track down something that had been stolen.”

“And you have no idea what it was?”

She shook her head. “No, I refused to help.”

“So you knew him well when you were in China.” He expected some variation of friend or lover, John did not expect to hear ‘He’s my brother’ come out of her mouth. This whole case was just fucked up.

“Two orphans, we had no choice, we could work for the Black Lotus or starve on the street like beggars. My brother has become their puppet; under the power of the one they call Shan, the Black Lotus General. When I turned my brother away he said I had betrayed him. The next day I came to work and the cipher was waiting…”

Sherlock pulled out the pictures. “Can you decipher these?”

“These are numbers.”

“Yes, I know.” John was proud that his friend didn’t make a comment about the girl’s intelligence or a sarcastic ‘obviously’. They were making progress. “But what’s the code?”

“All of the smugglers know it. It’s based on a book…” The lights went off. Oh great (muggles and their clichés)…that could only mean one thing...

“He’s here. He has found me.” Sherlock ran.

*

With Sherlock gone, John ushered Soo Lin under a desk. He ran as fast as he could to charm one of her tea pots and ran back. He handed it to her with a very stern ‘Whatever you do, don’t let go of this.’ and sat with her.

*

The Spider was shooting at them and Sherlock (the genius that he was) raced after him, ducking every so often to dodge a bullet.

John couldn’t just sit there though, not when his friend was getting shot at. After the third shot, he stood, told Soo Lin to lock the doors after him, and ran off.

*

Sherlock was running. He tried to keep the artifacts between himself and the Spider, but the careless muggle just shot at him anyway!

“Careful! Some of those skulls are over two-hundred _thousand_ years old! Have a bit of _respect_.” The shots stopped. “Thank you.” After a moment, the wizard noticed that it was too quiet. Even if the Spider stopped shooting there should be some noise…

When Sherlock moved out of his hiding spot, he realized that he was alone.

*

Bitterly, John grumbled to himself about how Soo Lin just _had_ to come back to work. If she had just gone back to her flat it would have made this chase so much easier.

*

She knew she was going to die. She had known from the moment she had seen the first cipher.  Soo Lin accepted this, but that didn’t stop her from scratching the first few words of the translation down for Mister Sherlock. Her brother and the Black Lotus needed to be stopped.

It was hard to tell when exactly Zhi Zhu entered the room. He moved silently, so silently that it had been the movement of the papers that had alerted her to his presence.

Soo Lin stood facing her brother. Placing the pot on the table, she stroked her brother’s face. She would not entertain the thought that he might let her live. He was trained to do this-to kill. This was the biggest regret of her short life and maybe he agreed with her-or maybe there was still a small part of her baby brother left because he let her apologize; let her say good-bye and that she still loved him.

*

The shot rang through the museum, cutting through the silence.

“Oh my god.” John ran down flights of stairs and through halls until he was back in the room where he had left Soo Lin.

As a Doctor/Med-Wizard and war veteran, John was no stranger to death. But seeing Soo Lin’s corpse with a black paper lotus in her hand and the pot he had specifically told her not to let go of resting a few feet away…it struck John. She was so young, and she had died because she wanted a life free of the illegal activities of her past.

*  

“How many murders is it going to take before you start believing that this maniac’s out there?” John asked Inspector Dimmock. The inspector walked away, trying to ignore him. “A young girl was gunned down tonight-that’s three victims in three days. You’re supposed to be finding him.”

“Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for an international gang of smugglers.” Sherlock said, stepping in between the other wizard and the muggle before someone started throwing punches. “A gang called the Black Lotus, operating here in London. Right under your nose.”

“Can you prove that?” Dimmock asked.

Did he really need to ask?

*

They made their way to Bart’s-and John _really_ needed to get some sleep soon. How Sherlock did this as often as he did was beyond him-and Sherlock talked Miss Hooper into letting them examine the bodies of Lukis and Van Coon.

John wasn’t surprised to see the Black Lotus tattoos on the dead men’s feet.

*

The flat was dark when they got home. Good, that meant that Harry was finally taking their advice and getting some rest. John shed his coat and went straight for his chair.

“It’s not just a criminal organization, it’s a cult. The brother was corrupted by one of its leaders- ”

“-Soo Lin said the name.”

“Yes, Shan. General Shan.”

“We’re still no closer to finding him-”

“-Wrong, we’ve got all we need to know. She gave us most of the missing pieces. Why did he need to visit his sister? Why did he need _her_ expertise?”

“Because she worked at the museum.”

“Exactly.”

“An expert in antiquities. Of course, I see.”

“Valuable antiquities John, ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China’s home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mao’s Revolution.”

“And the Black Lotus is selling them.”

They spent the next several minutes searching for Chinese antiquities that had recently been sold in England. Several very valuable items had been sold by anonymous sources. So that was what the Black Lotus was doing; send the artifacts one by one to England and sell them for hundreds of thousands.

“Look, each auction coincides with either Lukis or Van Coon taking a trip to China.”

“So what if one of them got greedy while they were in China? What if one of them stole something?”

“That’s why Zhi Zhu’s come.”

Mrs. Hudson knocked. “Ah, sorry. But are we collecting for charity Sherlock?”

“What?”

“A young man’s outside with crates of books.”

*

Harry was sleeping peacefully until someone-probably Sherlock-started dropping something heavy in the living room. Now normally at this time of night, Harry would roll over and place a silencing spell around the room so Sherlock could experiment to his heart’s content. But seeing as how his lover was on a case (and Harry had had little to no involvement do to his damned cold) Harry couldn’t keep his curiosity at bay. He stood, put on his dressing gown, and left the bedroom.

Honestly, he should have stayed in bed. Boxes and boxes were stacked and John and Sherlock sorted through them. The muggle way.

“Hey.” He said, nudging John’s shoulder with his own.   

“Hey.” John nudged back. “Sorry, did we wake you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t mind. I’m used to being up at odd hours. What are you two up to?”

“We are trying to sort these books, trying to find which ones that they both have so we can crack the code.”

“And you haven’t magically sorted them because…?” Neither of the men answered him, making Harry sigh. With a wave of his hand, Harry had the books sorted into three piles: one belonging to Lukis, one belonging to Van Coon, and one belonging to both. The last pile was annoyingly large. “Do you want any help?”

“What I would like, Harry, is for you to go back to bed so you can finish healing and then you will be able to help.” Sherlock said without looking up from the books.

“ _Darling_ , it might have escaped your notice, but I just did more than half of your work in less than three seconds.”

“No, _dearest_ , it has not. Nor has the fact that you are up and about when you are supposed to be resting. So I will repeat myself: if you would like to help, then go back to bed.”

John was of no help. When Harry looked at him, the blond merely gave him his ‘I-am-a-professional-and-I-think-that’s-in-your-best-interest’ look. Huffing, the young wizard went back to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Fine, if they wanted to be like that, then Harry would not offer his help for the rest of the case.

*

John and Sherlock stayed up throughout the rest of the night. Well, the rest of the night was really only a few hours. By the time John’s alarm went off, they still had half of the books to sort through. John had to leave Sherlock to sort through the rest by himself because he wasn’t going to let Harry help and John had to go to work.

To make matters worse, he had fallen asleep on his first day. Poor Sarah had to see to most of his patients. That woman had such a kind heart, taking on so much work while he slept.

“I’m sorry, that’s not very professional.”

“No, no it’s not.”

“I had-um-a bit of a late one.”

“Oh! Right…”

“Anyway, see ya.” He really needed to go home and go to sleep before Sherlock dragged him out of the house.

“So um…what were you doing that kept you up so late?”

Was she implying that he had had sex all night? She was, wasn’t she?! John would have loved to have been fucking someone-it would have been a more pleasurable alternative. But the only people he had been around for the majority  of the night had been Harry and Sherlock-mostly Sherlock-and while they both had nice asses (in a totally not gay way) John was not gay, Sherlock and Harry are together, John’s not gay, they were/are on a case, Harry was sick, and oh yes John was not gay. “I was attending a sort of book event.” It was not a lie, but not the truth either.

“Oh, she likes books does she? Your girlfriend?”  Girlfriend?

“No, it wasn’t a date.”

“Good-I mean um…”

“And I don’t have one tonight.” Maybe, if he was lucky, Sarah would say yes and provide him from a nice distraction from the case. Merlin knows he needed one.

*

Sherlock and Harry worked in the living room while Teddy slept in his swing. Yes, Harry had said that he wasn’t going to help, but he couldn’t let Sherlock go through this without some help. (And, honestly, Harry rather enjoyed the job)

“A book that everyone would own…”

“The bible?” Harry pulled it off the shelf.

“The dictionary.” Sherlock pulled that off the shelf. None of the words fit. The taller man put his head in his hands, trying to think. Harry kissed his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

John came in a moment later; looking like Christmas had come early. Considering the foul mood John had left in Harry was a little weary as to why he was so happy (not that he wasn’t glad that their John was in a good mood, it was just a drastic change from that morning).

“I need some air. We’re going out tonight, the four of us.” The four of them, was he including Teddy? Harry was so shocked that he nearly missed what John said.

“Nope, I can’t. I’ve got a date.”

“What?”

“It’s when two people who like each other go out and have fun.” Oh, John thought he was being so clever. One pointed look at Harry stopped that stupid grin.

“That’s what I was suggesting.”

“No it wasn’t, at least I hope not.” The other two wizards shifted slightly, though Sherlock was also looking for something, searching his pockets. Where had he put them? Harry on the other hand, felt offended. Were they truly that bad that John did not want to be with them (romantically that is)?

“Where are you taking her?” The youngest wizard asked, trying to keep the hurt from his voice.

“The Cinema.”

“Dull, boring, predictable.” Sherlock said. Honestly, John was a wizard, he couldn’t think of anything less clichéd? Oh there they are! “Here, try this.” He handed John a flier to a Chinese circus. “In London for one night only.”

John laughed. “Thanks, but I don’t come to you for dating advice.” And with that, John walked to his room to get ready.

The younger wizard walked to his lover, kissing him soundly. “I thought it was a lovely idea, even though it probably has something to do with your case.”

“Hm. Why do we want John to be our third again?”

“Because he’s John. Now stop pouting or your face will freeze like that.”

“If it hasn’t already, it will not now.”

“Don’t tempt me to hex you, Sherlock Holmes.”  


End file.
